


Replaced

by azure_iolite



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archangels, Bastard Michael, Brotherly Bonding, Changelings, Character Development, Doppelganger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode: s05e08 Spoiler Alert (Lucifer TV), Fear, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Lucifer whump, Mi-Clowns will love this, Michael whump, Nice Michael, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Sensory Deprivation, Twins, Whump, Whumptober 2020, Wings, celestials, wing plucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26776105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure_iolite/pseuds/azure_iolite
Summary: When Lucifer Dan and Maze rescued Chloe, they didn't leave. They called Amenadiel to their aide, and together, they dragged the misbehaving archangel down to Hell for a time out. But locking him up revealed a truth no one expected.Doppelgängers can steel someone’s identity. They take their memories, mimic their mannerisms—and apparently borrow celestial abilities—but at their core, they’re still themselves. Lucifer didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was right there. The “Michael” they locked up in Hell was an imposter.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Lucifer Morningstar/Michael Demiurgos, Mazikeen/Astaroth, Michael & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 376
Kudos: 297
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

> Expect weekly updates on Mondays until further notice. Gotta finish the first draft.
> 
> Well, Canon finally introduced Michael. And good grief, can he be any more of a cliché evil twin???  
> Maybe there's a reason for that. Traditions and stories equate a doppelgänger with an evil twin.... so... I took it literally. Enjoy!

Terror.

It is a violent emotion. It tries to strip you of all your power and autonomy. It leaves you physically ill, exhausted, and ready to run all at once. 

Why would an angel of the Lord be gifted with such a thing? What good could ever come of it?

This is what Lucifer had been trying to understand when Mazikeen approached, no doubt, with news about his treacherous twin. The one he intended to lock up in Hell. The one who gave him the slip by sending a doppelgänger to the abandoned zoo in his place.

Maze had a strange look in her eyes as she spoke, but Lucifer only heard ringing in his ears. What she said: it wasn’t possible.

“The doppler isn’t a fake.” That sentence was a contradiction. But...

Maze looked at him pointedly.

“Are you sure of this?” Lucifer’s stomach churned.

“We all are. The more we hurt him, the more he acts the same. He isn’t pretending, Lucifer.” 

But that made no sense. Granted, when doppelgängers stole someone’s identity, they took their memories, mimicked their mannerisms—and apparently borrowed celestial abilities—but at their core, they were still themselves. How long had it been since they found out the “Michael” they locked up in Hell was an imposter? A week? More? Any false mannerisms would’ve long since worn off.

_“Fan-bloody-tastic! It’s just like Mikey to swap in a replacement so he can get away.” Lucifer eyed the creature contemptuously, and it, in turn, sneered back from where it was bound to a chair. No need for anything extravagant with its restraints. Simple rope was sufficient. Any angelic strength it had while being his brother left when it’s borrowed guise failed._

_All that remained was a scrawny, pale skinned, pointy eared thing with scraggly yellowish hair. It had sunken grey eyes that seemed slightly too big for its face, and it wore his brother’s stupid turtleneck and blazer, made even more tasteless now, as they were far too baggly for it’s toothpick frame._

_“But he must’ve known we’d catch on when you reverted back. What’d he expect to accomplish? And why the Me would you help him? You lot hate celestials.”_

_The creature chuckled coldly. “And look at all the damage I’ve done. How could I pass up an opportunity like this?” It coughed, blood spraying from its swollen busted lips. “You’re never gonna figure out where he is, Samael.” It enunciated his old name, grinning viciously into the word before it doubled over with another bout of coughing blood._

It was excessively uncooperative after this, refusing to give a straight answer to anything he asked. Why? How long? What’s the plan? Who did what? Has his dick of a brother even left the Silver City? In the end, he handed the job over to his demons, and settled back to wait. Whatever the truth, they would ring it out of the creature as soon as they got it to stop emulating his deceitful brother.

Maze twirled her blades—still coated with its blood—as she leaned on the wall. “Dopplers came from beyond. Has Mike ever ventured out that way?” she inquired languidly.

“How the bloody Hell would I know? I’ve not seen him since—” His train of thought derailed as his chest grew tight and unwanted memories threatened to resurface.

“Yeah, duh. I meant before that.” The demon rolled her eyes.

Lucifer scoffed, adopting an air of indifference and convincing himself to believe it. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mazikeen. It’d never’ve been able to pull off an identity theft for that long without access to the source.”

“Just answer the question.” 

Lucifer considered it. Maybe? There was that one time, but it had been far too long ago to hold any merit now. 

When they were still new, Dad tasked Michael with sealing the passageways which lead beyond creation. An easy job. Still, his twin was afraid, insisting there were dangers out there he couldn’t face. But it had to be done, to keep those exact monsters from infiltrating creation before Dad could get started with his newest project: construction of the mortal plane. And Michael’s job was to defend the borders, which made it his responsibility. 

When his brother came back, he reassured everyone the job was done, but... he was different. At the time, everyone assumed he was just shaken by whatever he saw beyond, but after a time, it became clear that the shy, easily spooked angel who left to face the unknown alone came back changed by the experience. He was bitter. He’d found a measure of confidence and indifference toward what others thought, as well. And with that, came the rotten attitude. Unless... what if...?

“No,” Lucifer felt cold. It couldn’t be. “It’s not possible.” But what if it was? The voices in his head taunted him with the possibility.

He reflected on how his brother had been before. Quiet, reserved, and filled with doubt. Having the power to see everyone’s fears left him seeing danger everywhere he looked. And it had been Samael who reassured him. But that had been a long time ago.

“So, I take it he did,” Maze deduced, snapping him back to the present. 

“It can’t be. The thing would need access to him. It would’ve had to’ve found a way to hold him—” he lurched forward as a wave of nausea hit, “—for eons.” 

“Yeah, and?” Mazikeen raised her scarred eyebrow at him.

His mind spiraled, grasping for ways to deny it; to hold onto the idea that Michael was an arsehole who made it his personal mission to ruin Lucifer’s life and stir up trouble in paradise. That... that... the quiet, shy angel he used to be so close to was not trapped somewhere, replaced, while no one even noticed. Then an idea came to him. 

“His scar!” he declared, relief flooding in. “If he was a fake all this time, the scar would’ve vanished as soon as the thing needed to re-imprint.” 

“Unless, for the sake of consistency, after you cut up his face, the doppler carved up your brother’s face in the same spot,” the demon supplied dismissively.

No.

***

Michael missed the automated Hell loop. When he still had the form and abilities of an archangel, Hell bent to his will, just as reality often did for celestials—silly spoiled things had no idea how good they had it. Even if their will manifested unfortunate realities, like Lucifer’s demonic form, and Hell Loops that let them torture themselves—let _him_ torture himself, no demons required—they still had control.

The Demon disguised as Chloe Decker promised him—again—that she really did like the new “Lucifer.” It was a lie, yet he couldn’t help himself when he reacted. Which, really, how messed up was this? He was stuck in Hell, being tortured by demons, and he was still alive. 

This had to be breaking a rule somewhere.

Not like Lucifer cared about rules. 

“This is pointless. Can’t we just skip to the part when you shoot me?” He jibed, even as his body leaned in against his will. “Come on, it’s not like I’m dead. It’s not like I don't know what’s happening.”

The demon wearing Decker’s face stopped, and Michael found himself annoyed again by the hypocrisy. Lucifer was punishing him for pretending to be someone he wasn’t, when his demons did the exact same thing. And it’s not like he really was pretending. He _was_ the Archangel Michael, certainly more so than not. He had been Lucifer’s twin for eons. 

But his supposed ‘family’ seemed ready to abandon him. Just like that. Because, what? He wasn’t really an angel?

“Fine, stop, guys, he’s right! This is silly,” Chloe Decker’s not-a-doppelgänger spat.

Daniel came into view, frowning. “The boss told us to torture him.”

Not-Chloe glared at him, putting her hands on her hips. As their disagreement shifted to arguing, he tested to see if he had control of his limbs by lifting his hand. It moved freely. Michael slid back. Where was the door?

“It’s locked,” Ella Lopez grinned wickedly at him.

Great, another broken rule.

He glared at Not-Ella. “I think I preferred being tied to the chair and beaten.”

“Kinky.” She licked her upper lip hungrily. Ugh, demons. Sighing, he turned his attention back to the bickering Hellions.

“Our king told us to torture him, and this isn’t working. Maybe he’s right and I should just shoot him over and over,” Not-Chloe argued.

“That could actually kill him, even with rubber bullets. The boss didn’t tell us to kill him.”

“Well, him being dead would make torture easier.”

Michael glared. At least he had full control over his body, well, _sort of_ his body. He grimaced at the sight of it. It was all wrong. He was supposed to be a mighty archangel. At that thought, he caught himself wondering if his angel missed him, yet. Probably. These idiots were keeping him away from himself, and he needed to fix that. 

“But he’s kinda Lord Lucifer’s brother. Maybe he doesn’t _want_ us to kill him,” Not-Daniel countered.

Michael seized the opportunity. “Yes! Thank you!” At least _someone_ understood. “That’s right. I am—”

“Nothing but a thieving changeling who stole an archangel’s life long enough to be confused. I’m gonna shoot him.” Chloe’s double lifted the gun.

“Woah, woah, no need for drastic measures,” He held up his hands in surrender.

“This is Hell, dude, getting shot with rubber bullets is hardly drastic.” Lopez’s evil twin crossed her arms and smirked.

“Just hear me out.” He’d been waiting for an opportunity like this ever since they gave up trying to find the “real” him, and untied him so they could start up a loop and yank him around like a cheap toy. The three demons looked expectantly at him. “Why are you torturing me?”

“Because you’re in Hell,” they chorused as one.

Michael shook his head. “I’m not dead. I shouldn’t be here. But I am. Why?” The idiotic demons stared blankly at him. “To get information.”

“Ri—iight.” Not-Ella grinned. “We need to know where Michael is.”

Michael sighed. He _was_ Michael, but he didn’t look the part. Swallowing his pride, he chose to let it slide. “I’m ready to talk,” He purred. The demons gaped at him. “But only to Mazikeen.”

“Mazikeen? Why?” Not-Chloe was suspicious.

Michael shrugged. “We have a history. She understands me.”

His three tormentors considered his offer. Then a wicked gleam came into Daniel’s eye. “Sure, we’ll get—” 

“The real one,” Michael cut in. “You send in a pretender, I’ll know.” His eyes flashed white, and Daniel kicked a chair in frustration.

“He’s ruining all the fun. You should shoot him.”

“Agreed,” The fake detective sneered as she fired at him. The pain took his breath away. As he collapsed, gasping and curling in, the demons approached, snickering at his weakness.

“Any other requests?” Ella’s face appeared sympathetic. It was a lie.

Michael forced himself to look at them, even as his vision blurred. “I need to talk...” he huffed a few times, “with her a...” damn that hurt, “alone.”

“Fine.” He heard Chloe’s voice saying as he blanked out.

***

Vast emptiness stretched in every direction. The unchanging, unmoving, featureless landscape taunted him. 

Michael tested the resistance on a chain by yanking his wrist. It gave a little. His strength was coming back. The creature would be there again soon. An involuntary tremor ran through his body. He gave up trying to hide his fear a long time ago. There was no point. Absentmindedly, he reached over and grabbed a fistful of black feathers and yanked them out.

He didn’t know why he did it, except that it was something to do. And it angered the creature, which liked to keep him presentable. Yet—Michael shivered at the most recent memory of when it decided to hurt him, instead of groom him. He traced his hand over the scar which cut across his face. After all that fussing about needing to keep him nice looking for the imprints, why mark him? 

Another tremor rippled through him.

He was cold. 

He was always cold. 

It didn’t matter. 

Another fistful of feathers. He held them in front of him and opened his hand. They fell to the cold, hard, empty floor. They didn’t flutter, they just fell. There was no breeze to carry them or slow their descent. There wasn’t anything. Even the lighting in this void was more an absence of darkness than actual light. Michael stared at the growing collection of feathers. The only reason there wasn’t a pile higher than him was because the creature hauled them away every time it came by, grumbling about unseemly habits.

Michael stared vacant eyed at the emptiness. His eyes drifted to the floor—a floor which hadn’t existed at all until he wanted somewhere to land back when he first arrived. His eyes drifted to the chains and followed their path to the wall they were attached to. He looked at the wall. Then he followed the line of the chains snaking to his wrists and ankles again. The chains were made of a strange metal, too weak to hold him at his full strength, but the creature always stole that away when it imprinted, so it hardly mattered. 

Michael didn’t want to think about the imprints. They were terrifying. He felt as if he was losing himself every time. 

But it was still better than the endless nothingness.

More feathers fell to the floor.

_Footsteps echoed through the quiet, and the creature smirked down at him from where it stood. It knelt and picked up a handful of feathers and made a rueful sound._

_“Such a detestable habit for an archangel.”_

_His voice was loud in the silence. Too loud._

_Michael covered his ears and curled in. The clanking of the chains as they dragged across the floor were jarring and their rattling as he trembled cut sharply into the stillness. The sensations were overwhelming._

_“There, there.”_

_A hand patted his wing as it folded in around him, cocooning him from the threat. He flinched at the sensation of touch, even as his wing leaned in, craving more. More of something. Anything._

_“I don’t plan on hurting you, today.”_

_That was a lie._

_The creature liked to lie._

_It always hurt when it imprinted. But... he parted his wings to look at his captor. Should he try to fight? He would lose. He always lost. Fighting would be something to do, though._

_Michael watched passively as the creature took hold of his face with both hands on his cheeks, stroking possessively with its thumbs as it stared into his eyes. He looked into his own brown eyes and as they lit up, he felt himself slipping. The creature’s eyes blazed white. It was too bright. But he didn’t fight._

_Michael stopped fighting a long time ago._

He opened his eyes, finding himself alone.

Where did—? 

Oh.

It was a dream. It was hard to tell sometimes. Passively, he tugged on the chain again, and found it give significantly under the pull. Odd. The creature should have come by now. Michael felt a surge of fear. What if it never came back?

What if he was to remain there, trapped in the nothingness forever. With not even pain and cruelty to cut into the desolate monotony of existing in absolute isolation? Nervously, he glanced toward the pile of feathers. It was getting high. Why hadn’t the creature come yet?

He looked at his wings, ragged things that they were. Massive patches of missing feathers caught his eye. The creature was going to be angry with him. He would be beaten after it imprinted. 

It didn’t matter.

He pulled another fistful of feathers from his wing.

Footsteps echoed in the emptiness. No. It turned out to be his mind playing tricks on him. He was still alone.

Michael curled in on himself and waited. He trembled. He was cold. He dreamed. The creature carved his face. He woke up. His scar ached with phantom pain. He was alone. He waited. Feathers fell to the pile. Another tug on the chains and they snapped.

What?

Michael gaped at the broken metal.

That never happened before. Where was the creature? A shiver ran through his body. He was cold. And alone. Michael curled in on himself and waited for something to happen.


	2. Unacceptable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan just can’t right now.
> 
> The Doppelgänger is crafty.
> 
> Michael is super Tragic.

Dan sat between Chloe and Doctor Martin as they tried to explain, well, _everything_ to him, but his mind kept wandering back to the same sequence of events, the same words, the same instances, stuck in a loop.

_“Very well, give it here.” The Devil extended his hand toward the bracelet, wearing the same expression Trixie might wear after agreeing to take her medicine._

_“Are you sure? Because it only works if you want it.” Dan smirked as he pulled it back, knowing he had him._

He stared at the amethyst stone on his bracelet. It was nonsense. The Devil said it was. But what did he know? Just because Lucifer was an actual fallen angel didn’t mean he had all the answers. Far from it. Especially with regards to the bracelets.

_Dan brought his wrist up to meet with Lucifer’s as his arched gracefully downward, the guy somehow finding a way to make even this childish gesture seem smooth and elegant. Their bracelets clinked satisfyingly, and both grinned triumphantly. Because after everything, they were finally getting along. Bracelet bros for the win._

Dan was bracelet bros with the actual Devil. A shiver ran up his spine.

_The Devil held baby Charlie. Dan saw the face of a monster through the window and everything came crashing in around him. He knew it was real. He could feel the truth cutting into him. He felt Hell waiting, calling to him. Dan didn’t remember turning and running. He didn’t remember getting in the car. He only remembered the terror. The mind-breaking, heart-pounding, wild terror telling him to run as far away as he could and never look back._

Thinking about that moment, he couldn’t understand why Lucifer’s other face—was it his _real_ face?—did that to him. When he stopped to pay attention to what it looked like, it was more savage burn victim than evil monster. Is that what happened to Lucifer? Were the stories about landing in a Lake of fire true?

After recent events, Dan didn’t feel like anything the Bible had to say was true at all.

_“I am the archangel Michael.” The wings spread out behind Lucifer’s look alike glowed with the light of the sun behind him, like a halo. The white gown flowed in the wind and everything about him felt right._

But it had all been a lie. He had been played, and Chloe was kidnapped by the supposed good guy. Dan remembered running next to the demon and the Devil through the caves at the abandoned zoo to rescue her.

_Chloe had a bar she pried off the window, and as Lucifer came rushing in, she hit him with it. Lucifer stumbled and groaned as she ran to escape. That’s when she saw the rest of her rescue party._

_“Maze, Dan!” She blinked disbelievingly as she skidded to a stop. “What are you doing here?”_

_Dan was speechless, still processing._

_“That’s a mighty swing you have there, Detective. Are all abandoned zoos this dangerous?” The Devil had a hand on his head, but his expression was soft. Gentle._

_Chloe turned toward him, her expression quickly flashing through relief, alarm, then guilt.“Lucifer I’m sorry.” She rushed to him and as they met, he tenderly enfolded her in his arms. “I thought you were Michael.” Their lips locked even as the l still hung on her lips._

_“It’s okay Detective, you can whack me any time,” he assured as they pulled back. His eyes drank in the sight of her like a dying man in a desert faced with an oasis, and it hit Dan like a brick: Lucifer loved her in a way Dan never had. Lucifer loved her. The Devil... Lucifer... the guy was the Devil, but he still loved. And hoped._

_Dan stared in awe. “He really does care, doesn’t he?” How evil could he be if he could care for someone like that?_

_“Yeah.” Maze’s voice was strangled next to him, distressed. “Freakin soulmates.”_

After this, Lucifer put his hands together, apparently praying to Amenadiel, and moments later, the angel was there. They argued a bit. Amenadiel was reluctant to leave Linda and Charlie, but when he realized their brother’s latest stunt involved kidnapping, a dark resolve set in.

The Devil, his demon, and the angel agreed to deal with Michael directly, but Dan was asked to get Chloe to safety. He was all for that, but Chloe, of course, wanted to stay and help. That is, until she realized how frazzled Dan was. 

And so Dan left with his ex. His brain having turned to pudding, she took the lead, and they headed to Doctor Martin’s. She was still out with Charlie at the hospital when they arrived, so they waited. While Dan stared at the bubble wrap and wondered if half angel babies could fly, Chloe called Linda. She assured them she was already on her way back. Charlie just had a cold. She was home a few minutes later, cradling her fussy sick baby in her arms.

So, half angels could get colds. Huh. Amenadiel was an angel. And the Devil was his friend. They were bracelet bros...

_“Very well, give it here.” The Devil extended his hand toward the bracelet, wearing the same expression Trixie might wear after agreeing to take her medicine._

_“Are you sure? Because it only works if you want it.” Dan smirked as he pulled it back, knowing he had him._

“Dan? Hello?”

Chloe snapped her fingers in front of him and he snapped back to the present, only to realize he hadn’t heard a word of what she and Doctor Martin said. 

Dan blinked, trying to get his brain to work. He should say something. Right? Right.

“The Devil is a good guy. The archangel Michael is a bad guy? Lucifer and Amenadiel are taking him to Hell so he can learn to behave.” 

Chloe sighed and took his hand, a sympathetic expression on her face.

Mierda! He said that already, didn’t he?

“I know it’s a lot to process, you can take as long as you need.” Doctor Martin had her child—nephilim?—in her arms still, but her voice was purely professional.

Dan nodded, even as his brain reverted back to pudding. He liked pudding. Lucifer liked to steal his pudding. Lucifer was a dick. But they were bracelet bros...

***

Michael woke up in an empty room, tied to a chair. Well, this was nostalgic. His body ached from being shot and his head pounded, signaling their decision to forgo the angel feather healing they liked to do before restarting a loop, but at least he wasn’t being jerked around like a marionette. He gave an experimental tug on the ropes and grinned. They were strong enough to hold him—this form was pathetically weak—but judging from the strain, the knots were weak enough for a demon to break.

He rotated and rolled his neck as he waited, trying to ease some of the tension. He wished he could rub his temples to sooth the dreadful headache. As he fidgeted to get more comfortable, the door opened and the familiar form of Mazikeen walked in.

She whipped out her blades and started twirling them as she stalked forward, her intent to do lots of damage written plain as day on her face.

“Miss Mazikeen, you are exactly the demon I wanted to see.” He stopped squirming to smile welcomingly at her.

“So I heard,” She lifted a blade to inspect it, testing its sharpness. “You didn’t get enough of these the first time around?” She tilted one his way as she advanced.

“Now, now, is that any way to greet a friend?” He went back to rolling his neck, trying to work out a particularly stubborn knot. 

“Friend?” The demon sputtered, anger flaring. “You think I’m your friend?” She drew closer, each step menacing. “I am so tired of your bullshit games ‘Michael’—” she made air quotes before grabbing the back of his chair and pulled him in closer. It wasn’t quite close enough, though. “I’m tired of you messing with me and my _actual_ friends.” She brought one of her blades to his neck. He felt the edge kiss his flesh as a thin line of blood trailed down from the split skin. “Kidnapping Chloe? That was a step too far. And that was _before_ I knew the truth. Now I’m gonna have fun carving you up.”

“Come on, that’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” He offered a reprimanding look, ignoring the fact that he was in mortal peril. “I mean, I was never gonna hurt Chloe.” 

The demon dropped the chair and pulled back to scoff at him. He fell back with a jostle that sent a wave of pain through his injured and strained body. After a sharp hiss, he appraised her expression. Skepticism.

“You don’t believe me.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as she tapped her feet. “Why should I?”

Michael considered his options. He had a speech planned for her, and though it had originally been for a completely different goal, he was pretty sure it would still work. Swallowing, he went for it. 

“Mazikeen, I am the _only_ one who has been honest with you.” He looked pointedly at her. “Who told you about the ring?”

Her glare darkened. “All that did was show me how much my life sucks.”

“Which is exactly why I wanted to talk to you.” He grinned as he saw her harsh expression shift to confusion. “I can help you. Because when I get what I want, so can you, and we are so close, Mazikeen.” He looked into her eyes, focusing on drawing her in, and she, in turn, faltered, doubt about her resolve leaving her vulnerable. “So, sooo close to my plan finally coming together.” But then she snapped out of it.

“Yeah, right, what plan? Lure Lucifer up to Earth so you could steal his life?” She knelt and brought her face close, dropping the illusion of flawless skin over half her face. It was likely meant to intimidate, but it was also exactly what he needed. “Literally become him?” Her blade slid up his torso. “How is that supposed to get me what I want?”

He made an effort not to react to the spike of fear. “That was just a little fun,” He sighed dramatically to mask his unease. “But if you’re not interested, I suppose I won’t push. I just figured you were tired of being alone.” 

Mazikeen snarled. “They told me you were ready to talk, was that just an excuse to see me?” She leaned in until her demonic face was inches from his, sneering contemptuously.

Perfect.

“I can tell you where to find the angel, but he can’t help you.” His eyes lit up, and their hypnotizing influence drew her gaze. He just had to keep talking, so she wouldn’t notice. “I know how to get the attention of the _only_ one who can give you a soul. And you deserve one, Mazikeen, don’t you.” 

As he spoke, he felt her mind in his. Be felt her doubt. She thought he was lying, again.

“I have no reason to deceive you. I never have, and I never will.”

Her demon strength flowed into him. Mazikeen grew weaker, and with a startle, she moved to pull away, but his gaze was locked with hers and she couldn’t turn from it. The imprint was in full swing. She stumbled, disoriented by the change, but he easily broke from his restraints and caught her to hold her by the cheeks. 

“I am not lying to you now, either. I just need to borrow you for a bit.”

He felt his body change as she grew limp.

He had never been a demon before. He found he rather liked it. All the primal, raw strength, the fire and passion. But he also felt longing. He understood the feeling well. He knew what it was like to long for acceptance—for love. A soul would make her lovable. It was a foolish notion. Being an angel hadn’t been enough for him to be loved. He— _she_ would need to find another way.

Mazikeen looked down at herself, laying on the floor. She was sorry about that. Mazikeen deserved happiness. They were both victims of celestial cruelty. Lucifer never valued her. She was alone because of him. She genuinely wanted to help herself, but this was the only way out of Hell. Sighing, she proceeded to swap clothes with the other Mazikeen before tying her to the chair. When the knots were secure, she turned to collect her blades, and with a smirk, she left. 

Astaroth was waiting just beyond the door, a bored look on her pretty face. 

“Did he talk?” 

Maze rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Bastard imprinted, too. Idiot thought I would just stand there and let it walk out.”

“You should’ve known better than to get close.” 

“It provoked me,” she defended. “But it also told me where to find Mikey.” She started to leave, shrugging off Astaroth’s calculating glare. But then she paused to glance back. “Don’t listen to a word it says. Everything out of its mouth is a lie,” she spat.

“Obviously. Only an amateur would listen to a changeling.” The meaning was not lost on Maze, but she chose to ignore it. For now. Fighting with Astaroth wouldn’t do any good. 

As she made her way through the desolate hallway to find Lucifer, she planned her— _his_ next steps. As much fun as it was being a demon, it was not who he was. He was an _archangel,_ and he had to get back to himself. Mazikeen punched a wall in frustration. She didn’t like being the wrong person. 

***

Michael wandered through the void. 

It had been a long time since the creature visited, and he felt a peculiar ache in his heart. He had no love for it, but it was all he had. It’s false affection, it’s care, and it’s cruelty. Those were all he had had for almost his entire existence.

Everything else was a distant memory.

Michael was afraid of being alone, with nothing but memories and madness as companions. But the creature wasn’t coming back. So after a while, he decided to leave. He was going to find the exit and never come back. He was going to _live._

Or, that had been his plan. 

Before he lost the wall. Before the nagging feeling of dread started to take control. Before he started to question his choice, asking himself, ‘what if?’

What if the creature was back, looking for him, and he missed it because he left? What if he undermined his only opportunity to escape being lost, forgotten, and abandoned by walking away? What if it never found him? What if he never found the exit? He honestly had no clue how he _could_ find his way out. It was a foolish thing he did, walking away. And so, his search for the exit turned into a desperate search for the wall.

A shiver climbed up his spine, both from the cold and the fear.

He folded his wings around himself as he walked, and eager for a diversion, he grabbed a feather and plucked it. It was a long primary. As he studied it, he reached out with his mind to see if he could sense any fear in the emptiness. Anything at all. But all there was to find was his own fear. Of course. Even if the creature came back, why would it be afraid? It may be angry with him for wandering off, but it could be anyone it wanted.

It didn’t need him.

No one did.

No one was coming.

He plucked another feather as he fought to control his tears. Crying was weak. It would blur his vision and leave him drained. How was he ever going to find the wall if he gave in this easily? But one feather wasn’t enough to fill the gaping hole in his heart.

Another feather, another distraction. 

Still not enough.

He plucked lesser coverts, tertials, and secondaries from both wings, angry with himself and frantic to feel something. But after a while, he stopped. Drained and empty, he sank into a sitting position and dropped his head into his hands.

What did it matter if he never found the wall? No one was looking for him, anyway. No one missed him. No one ever did, and they never would. 

He was truly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to stick to posting on Fridays and Mondays.
> 
> (Or Sunday night when I get impatient. 🥳)
> 
> Those who are waiting for a sequel to the Price of Freewill, fear not, that is still in the works. In the meantime, here’s a whumpy angsty fic. 😉


	3. Unrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maze” has a chat with Lucifer.
> 
> Michael is still alone.

Mazikeen found Lucifer pacing in one of the Hell Loops. He had the bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and pointer as he paced restlessly, his steps measured to the strikingly rhythmic thudding of the damned soul hitting his head against the surface of the glass box he was trapped in. 

The demon snorted in amusement. Judging from the ruffles, baggy sleeves, and oversized buttons on the man’s black and white suit, she would guess he had been alive in the early 1900s.

“Whose idea was it to trap a mime in an actual glass box?” She asked, smirking as the man in the box started pounding on the glass with both fists and shouting uselessly to try and get her attention.

Lucifer halted in his pacing to take her in. “What was that?” He blinked owlishly at her.

Mazikeen ground her teeth at the display of indifference. She had been his loyal protector for longer than she could quantify, and he still barely registered her presence. Because he didn’t care. Because as far as he was concerned, she was ‘just a demon.’

A soulless tool.

She gripped her knives as she debated whether or not to throw them at him.

“Forget it,” she ground out, deciding against it. “I have info for you.”

Lucifer perked up, genuinely interested. “Did the filthy blighter finally confess to Mickey’s wicked schemes? I’d imagine it had a good laugh about playing everyone, while at it.”

Of course. Lucifer was still holding out hope that this was a mistake. Mazikeen considered. There was potential in that, but... no. Best to stick with the plan she already had. 

“Told me where to find your brother.” She leaned on the glass box, inspiring its occupant to start begging for freedom. The glass was too thick to make out what he was blubbering, but he didn’t know that.

Lucifer sagged. He furrowed his brow. “Could be a trap. This whole thing could be a clever set up. Don’t think for a minute he isn’t deceitful enough for that.”

Mazikeen snorted. It was definitely a trap. But not the sort Lucifer thought. As always, the best way to deal with the Devil was to give him exactly what he wanted and let him self-destruct with just a little nudge here and there to make sure everything went according to plan. Some things never changed. Maze grinned, not bothering to hide the malice. 

“Or it’s the truth, and you’re just a terrible brother. Too full of yourself to notice when someone close to you has been replaced. Too selfish to care about anyone’s feelings but your own.”

Lucifer waved her off. “Nonsense.” But then he paused to look at her more closely, and for a moment, she worried she slipped up. But then he spoke. “Mazikeen, if this is still somehow about Lilith, I told you, I gave her my word.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Lucifer scrutinized her, and she offered a contemptuous curl of her lips before continuing. “Gotta go back to Earth. The doorway is there. I got an address for you, but you’re not getting it till we’re back.”

She smirked when he pulled back from her as if slapped. “What? Why?”

“You left me behind before, you could do it again. I’m not letting you do that to me anymore.” She leveled a glare at him, which he returned, but only briefly before he heaved in frustration.

“I’ve already apologized, and though I’m sure Dr. Linda would say some rubbish about letting people be heard, I’m done explaining myself to you. Really, these theatrics are hardly necessary, I’ve no intent to leave you behind.” He unfurled his wings, and the trapped mime let out an alarmed yelp as he threw himself against the far wall of his transparent prison in a pointless attempt to get away. “But, of course, it’s your choice.” He motioned for her to come.

“Damn right, it is,” she snarled, stepping into his space and lifting a blade toward his throat. 

He leaned back ever so slightly as a finger eased the blade away. He grinned back at her. There was no humor in it. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that was a threat.” His eyes gleamed red. 

“It is,” she retorted.

“Good to know we understand one another.”

For a moment, neither moved. The man in the box went back to whimpering as he rocked back and forth, and slowly, she lowered her blade. Lucifer’s eyes returned to a soft brown. And for a brief moment, he almost looked... sorry.

“Come on, then. Best get this over with.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Mazikeen hesitated. She knew that look. Longing. But before any soft feelings could get in, she hardened her heart. If he felt bad because things were changing between them, maybe he should have appreciated her when he had the chance. She was done giving Lucifer chances.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use that emotion in her favor. The real Mazikeen would, so why not? “Yeah, let's get out of here so you can rescue your twin,” she laughed. “Who would’ve thought, huh? You, rescuing Michael?”

Lucifer wrapped his arms around her, relaxing at the show of camaraderie. “I still think it’s a trap,” he snorted.

“And you’re gonna spring it anyway?” She wrapped her arms around him.

“Of course.” Lucifer brought his pristine snowy wings downward in a mighty thrust, and together, they left Hell behind.

***

He had no clue how long he wandered, and a cold acceptance was growing within him. He was never going to find the wall. No one was ever coming again. He was alone. Unwanted, unneeded, useless... 

Forgotten.

Pointlessly, he reached out to see if he could sense anything. 

Nothing.

Michael plucked a feather, but before he dropped it, he brought it up to study. Black. Dull. Ragged. He frowned at it.

“You’re damaged. No one wants an archangel who plucks his divine feathers. This habit is unbecoming. I can’t have the others thinking there is something wrong with us.” His voice cutting the silence was almost painful.

He closed his eyes. He could almost feel the kick.

“I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.” He sat down and stared at the feather with a stern expression. Then he took it in both hands and tore it in two. The pieces fell lifelessly to the floor.

“You make me discipline you when I only wish to keep you safe. Untainted by everything out there. And you thank me by damaging us?”

Michael sighed as he gazed into the nothingness. He was pretty sure talking to oneself was also unacceptable behavior. The stillness stretched on and on forever though, and no punishment was coming.

The nothingness didn’t care.

He laid down, the motivation to continue having been sapped by the weight filling his chest. Breathing was hard. Existing was hard. Not that there was anything he could do about it. 

Michael turned his head to address the torn feather again. “I only wish to care for you. For us. I only wish to keep you safe. You know that, right?” It had nothing to say. Wistfully, he extended his hand to stroke it, remembering the feel of hands on his wings, tenderly sliding over the feathers, smoothing the barbules into place, and aligning the ruffled coverts.

Footsteps echoed through the nothingness. Too faint to be real. The creature smiled down at him. He had fine looking black garments, and his hair was straight and combed into a neat shape. 

_“Hello angel, I’m sorry it took so long to find you. Let me take care of you.”_

He was dreaming again. But at least he wasn’t alone in his dreams. The creature wearing his face stroked his wings. Michael let him. There was no reason not to. And it felt almost nice.

_“You really shouldn’t pull our feathers out. But today is not for discipline.”_

_The creature had supplies with it. Supplies for grooming. Water, clippers, the buzzing thing for his face, the white stuff that foamed up... It chatted as it went about their routine._

_“Gabriel is an ass. He owes me money. I know he has it, but the feathered dick refused to pay up. Dad is still silent, the original absentee parent.” It paused, the hands in Michael’s feathers stopping their ministrations as it grew thoughtful, then it grinned. “I have a plan to fix that, though. It’s your fault, you know.” It chuckled, patting his shoulder as it spoke. “I shouldn’t care about them. Dad knows they don’t care about us.”_

_Michael didn’t understand half of it. But he listened._

_“Chin up, angel. Today is a good day.” It’s grin stretched, clearly pleased with itself._

_“A good day?” He didn’t think good days were really a thing. He honestly didn’t even know what ‘day’ meant aside from some nebulous measure of time, but it was a phrase the creature used often. Or it had, when it still came around. Michael eyed the figment of his imagination accusingly. “You left. There are no more good days.”_

_“Open your eyes and say that.”_

Michael opened his eyes, the dream fading into obscurity. At first, he didn’t see anything, but then, just as he was about to close them again, he noticed it. An obstruction on the horizon. Very faint, very slight, but there. 

Something was there. 

He was on his feet in an instant. He ran toward it, and after a while, he even stretched his wings to fly a short distance. Flying hurt his damaged wing, but it was the fastest way to travel. And sure enough, as he drew closer, he could clearly make it out.

The wall.

Mind made up, he stretched his wings and covered the remainder of the distance. He was back. He was back to the only place in the nothingness. The only chance of being found.

The chains lay broken at his feet and he laughed. Because he never thought he would be so grateful for the sight of them. Heaving a sigh of relief, he sank against the wall and slid into a sitting position. He was never leaving this wall again. Not until someone came.

Someone would have to come. 

Eventually.

Even if no one was looking for him, someone would come... at some point or other. And he would be there, waiting. 

Waiting.

Michael swallowed a lump in his throat.

He hoped it wouldn’t be too long.

***

Earth. 

Lucifer breathed deeply, indulging in the ash and sulphur-free air as the tidy, elegant decor of his Penthouse welcomed him like a dear friend. He relished in the feeling of belonging which being home always brought while Maze headed for the bar to help herself. Lucifer considered pointing out that the open bar only applied to friends, but the truth was, he _wanted_ her to have at it. After all, he kept the vodka well stocked for her benefit. Besides, she was clearly mad at him again, and binging on vodka was hardly the worst she could do when in one of her moods.

Sighing, Lucifer glanced toward the new grand in the center of the room, allowing himself a moment to mourn the loss of the old one. He was still warming up to the new instrument. It was a polished black Steinway, brought over from New York, and the keys rang with sweat clarity, but it wasn’t the same.

“11916 Pico Blvd. It’s here in town.” Maze’s words cut into his rumination. Lucifer turned his attention back to her. “Top floor. Not even a proper studio. More of an attic converted into one.” She took a sip and leaned forward on the bar. “No number, it’s unlisted. But when you get there, you’ll need the condemned linens cabinet.” She took another sip. “Bastard moved the door when it decided to mess with you.” She rested her chin on her hand and toyed with the bottle as she eyed him, an odd expression darkening her eye. “Guess he wanted to keep the doorway close for easier access.” She shrugged before going back to drinking.

Lucifer stared at her. “You said you know where Michael is. What’s this talk about doors?”

The demon rolled her eyes. “He’s _beyond_ that door.” She grinned around the word.

Beyond?

Could it—? “Michael sealed all the doorways leading beyond creation,” He pointed out. He needed a drink, too. Lucifer made his way to the bar to pour a tumbler of bourbon for himself.

“Yeah, no. He sealed all but the last one. And he wasn’t the one who came back, remember?” Maze snorted at him, then she set down the bottle and made her way toward the elevator. 

“You’re not coming with?” Lucifer demanded, his hand frozen mid reach for his drink. Maze glared at him in reply, and Lucifer felt a tightness in his chest. He couldn’t understand it. Why was she so bitter with him? All this because he kept his word to her mum? Why should she care about that? It made no sense.

She paused, looked him up and down, and a strange... almost hungry look glinted in her eyes for the briefest instance, but then it vanished, replaced by her all-too-familiar glare. She turned away, hitting the button. “Not my problem.” The elevator opened and she stepped in.

“But—” 

The doors closed in front of her. She didn’t even turn around to face him. 

Lucifer stared at the closed doors for longer than he probably ought to have before retrieving his phone. First he texted the Detective, sending a string of emojis to explain the situation. Then he punched in the address Maze provided to get a google maps sky view of the location so he could fly over and investigate. All the while, his instincts cautioned him against it.

Trap. 

It was a trap. Michael was playing him again. He just knew it. And he should just leave it alone, but something Maze said kept repeating in his head.

_”Or it’s the truth, and you’re just a terrible brother. Too full of yourself to notice when someone close to you has been replaced.”_

It couldn’t be. Lucifer would know if Michael had been replaced. But— he changed. Going beyond changed him. And try as he might, Lucifer couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the ridiculous story just might be true. 

And he couldn’t quite still the voices in his head, taunting him, accusing him. Or the fragile _hope_ that maybe Michael hadn’t rejected him so utterly after all.

He could already hear Michael laughing at him, saying something about being so desperate to be accepted that he was allowing himself to fall for such an obvious ruse. 

It was pathetic.

Unless it was the truth.

Lucifer had to go. He had to find out. If he didn’t go, this was going to weigh on him forever.

Spreading his wings, the Devil left the penthouse and flew to the back alley behind 11916 Pico Blvd.

The building he needed was an unassuming apartment complex. Big ugly grey and white boxes stacked atop one another, but the walls were clean and upon entering, he found the interior pleasing, even if they were extraordinarily plebeian. Yet, when he inquired about an unlisted studio, the humans knew nothing of it. Frustrated, he followed the stairs to the top. Again, there was nothing to indicate anything to be found after the last listed apartment. As he puzzled over the conundrum, an idea came to him.

It would be just like that thrifty bastard twin of his to use a place no one even knew about. He had wings—well, sort of—even as pathetic as they were, Michael could still fly. With that in mind, Lucifer exited the building, he looked again at the industrial grey walls, and that’s when he saw it: an extra window above the others, with a perch facing the back alley, mostly obscured from sight.

Moving back so he was out of sight, he unfurled his wings and flew up. The window opened easily enough. Stepping in, he took in the surroundings. The place was cramped, filled to the brim with various odds and ends. A knick knack here, an old tattered sofa there. And plenty of cobwebs and dust. 

Taking an unsteady breath, he maneuvered through the clutter until he found what he was looking for. Maze described it as a condemned linens cabinet, but something about it felt... alien. Stealing himself, he reached out toward the door.

It felt wrong. It felt like _oblivion._ His hand trembled as it landed on the handle.

A trap.

This was definitely a trap.

But he had to know.

Hardening his resolve and sending a silent prayer for the Detective, Lucifer opened the door, and stepped into the vast empty expense beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That scene with Michael really got me while writing.
> 
> But writing doppelgänger Maze interacting with Lucifer was fun.


	4. Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hold up. Let me grab my tissues, brb.
> 
> Okay, let’s do this!

Nothing.

Nothingness as far as his eyes could see. The floor was a nondescript grey surface, smooth and dull. The sky—if you could call it that—was more an absence of ground. Calling it grey didn’t even seem accurate. And it was bitterly cold. 

Lucifer had no idea what he expected when he passed through the doorway, but this? This was not it. No temperature, just a sense that it lacked heat. No sound, save the cacophony of activity in his own ears. And no light or shadow. It was dreadful.

Dumbfounded by the sheer lack of, well, _anything,_ he took a couple steps in an aimless direction, only to be surprised by how loud his footfalls were against the soundless expanse. Lucifer shuddered. Being trapped here for _five minutes_ would likely drive him mad. Looking around, he was struck again by how much there... _wasn’t._ He couldn’t even see the doorway he’d come through.

Wait. 

That was bad. 

Where was the doorway? 

Looking about frantically, he tried to see if he could find anything to reveal its location; a shimmering, a light, a shadow. Nothing. There wasn’t anything there!

No. 

No, no, no, this was bad. 

This was really bad.

Lucifer pawed about desperately, growing more panicked with each unsuccessful swipe. He _knew_ it was a trap! Michael was probably having a right proper laugh at how easily he walked into it. 

Bastard.

Unwilling to give up quite yet, even as his heartbeat thundered in his ears, he frantically searched, hands waving about like he was trying to ward off an invisible army of killer bees, until his hand vanished. Lucifer froze. He took an unsteady breath and exhaled in relief. He was going to have to tell his demons about this place. It took a few minutes for him to calm down, during which time he refused to pull his arm back in. He was not about to lose the exit again.

After a moment to regroup, he started to wonder: should he keep searching? There was still a chance the ‘real’ Michael needed help. Assuming the wild story Maze told him was true, how did The Body Snatcher keep finding the exit? There wasn’t anything around to mark it. As he stared into the void, the landscape’s featureless layout gave him an idea, and he brought his fist down upon the floor with all his might, intent on leaving a crater big enough to see from space—not that there was such a thing. But when his fist connected with the ground, nothing happened. No indent, no give, nothing.

Well, that was bloody inconvenient. 

How was he to mark the passage if he couldn’t create a landmark? Perhaps, if he left something? He looked at his pocket square and frowned. It was bright red, but too small. He looked around again. There was nothing. Everything he needed existed on the other side of—oh, that would do it.

Lucifer passed through the doorway, and he was instantly assaulted by the light, heat, and colors. And sounds. The rumble of traffic beyond the studio reached his ears with obnoxious force. He heard arguing through the floorboards, and, oh my, the rhythmic pounding of a bed frame against a wall. Normally that would delight him, but now? It was uncomfortably loud. He huffed, irritated by the onslaught of activity.

Pushing his frustrations aside, he focused. He was there for a reason. He looked over the clutter, trying to decide, until his eyes landed on a very useful eyesore. It was like a movable stop sign, with a pole and stand at the bottom, except it was lime green, with white lettering. “Here,” and a blood red arrow pointing left.

Ah.

So that’s how the identity thief did it. Lucifer snatched up the sign and went through the doorway again, then he promptly set it down so the arrow pointed directly at the exit. There. That oughta do it. Can’t very well conduct a hypothetical rescue mission for poor, dear “Real Mikey” only to get trapped in this worse-than-Hell-hole in the process. 

Satisfied with the marker, he looked around again. How should he start? He was fairly certain that if he just started walking, he would never find anything.

Then again, he was on the ground. An aerial view might prove more useful. Mind made up, he unfurled his wings, and took to the—er—not sky. He soared through the emptiness, scanning the surface below, looking for an irregularity, until finally, he spotted something.

It looked like a wall.

And it was the only thing anywhere to be seen, so he wasted no time flying over and landing in front of it. The thing was a crude stone structure, but quite sturdy. He didn’t see anything on this side of it, but walls have two sides. Feeling almost nervous, he tucked his wings away and started to circle it. His footfalls were deafening in the dead quiet. They may as well‘ve been gunshots. 

As he rounded the corner, he spotted torn up chunks of metal. Looked like they’d been chains, or else one long one. Hard to tell. The one responsible for their demise—presumably Michael—had done such a thorough job, there was naught but countless chunks of twisted metal left in scattered disarray. The next thing to catch his eye was the pile of black feathers. The sight sent a chill through Lucifer’s body, and for a moment, he stopped, his feet rebelling against the notion of moving forward. But after a deep breath, he continued to circle the wall. 

And that’s when a weight dropped into his stomach.

Lucifer choked at the sight of ragged black wings, folded in around what could only be his brother. The feathers fluffed and shook as he approached and he found himself stuck as a lump formed in his throat. The confirmation of this awful truth was more than he could cope with.

It could still be a trick. Michael was excellent at play-acting, after all. Yes, that was it. Right?

 _‘Denial.’_ Dr. Linda’s voice filled his head, and as Lucifer looked at the trembling feathered form in front of him, even he had to admit: it was definitely not just a river in Africa, this time.

Lucifer felt his own hands start to tremble. All this time he spent thinking ill of his twin, feeling cheated, manipulated, and betrayed, while Michael had been here. _Here!_ Being tortured through sensory deprivation since... since before the bloody entire mortal plane. Before ‘Let there be light,’ before the formation of the planets, life, the garden... Before his rebellion, his Fall... all of it.

His heart hammered in his chest as he struggled with the implications, and a long buried memory danced traitorously in his mind. 

_“You go have fun, Sammy. I... can’t.” Michael offered a sad smile._

_Samael took his hand and tried to encouragingly lead him forward. “You can’t avoid the others forever. How are you to make friends if—”_

_“I can’t,” he said again, pulling his hand back. “Being around so many others... around so many fears all at once... please,” his brother implored, looking downward as he spoke, and Samael crumbled. Michael’s hands were clenched and shaking._

_He couldn’t force him. He could never do that. “Very well. I suppose we can sit this one out, Mi-Mi.” He pulled his brother in and as he embraced him, he brought his wings forward to encircle them both until the reluctant angel of fear relaxed._

Lucifer took a stuttering breath as the memory faded.

His brother didn’t deserve this. 

A low weighty sob forced its trembling way from his lips, and the feathered lump before him flinched visibly at the sudden onslaught of sound. What was he supposed to say to him? How could he ever fix this? 

Looking around, he tried desperately to find something— _anything_ his twin could’ve occupied himself with. A book, a game, a bloody toy? Of course, there was nothing. No wonder he ripped out feathers.

Like a wild animal trapped in a cage with absolutely nothing better to do than try to self-destruct. 

He stepped toward the abandoned angel, forcing the lump in his throat down. 

“Brother?” His voice was too loud, and woefully shaky. 

The feathers stopped shaking, and a wing lifted partially to reveal the naked form of his twin within. Wide, terrified eyes locked onto him. The scar—which he had unwittingly given him—only helped to make him look more wild and fearful. But then, as the wings parted, his expression changed, and his eyes became vacant. Every bit as empty as the landscape they found themselves in. Lucifer noticed that the creature may not’ve given him anything to pass the time, but it had clearly taken measures to keep him presentable.

“No,” his brother intoned in Enochian. His voice was scratchy and soft. Oh, right. Michael would only know of the one language. “My face. You can’t.” He started to scoot back. 

At first, Lucifer had no idea what he was talking about, but then, with a sinking feeling, it became obvious. Sliding into a language he thought he would never use again, he attempted to reassure the frightened angel in front of him. 

“It’s me...” he hesitated, debating how best to address him before settling on the old, long abandoned nickname, “I’m here, Mi-Mi. It’s me, Luc—” No, Michael probably didn’t know that name, _“Sammy.”_ Even whispering, he worried his voice was too loud.

Michael stopped, his head tilting, but then his expression hardened. “Liar.”

Lucifer resisted his first impulse to correct him.

“No, it’s really me. I took care of the doppelgänger.” He took a couple steps closer, and Michael flared his wings in warning. Lucifer stopped.

“I broke the chains. I have my strength back. You can’t hurt me. _Stop lying!”_ His empty expression slipped into one of rage before becoming passive again.

Bloody Hell. Lucifer could hardly blame him for not trusting. Pretending to be someone else was exactly the kind of duplicitous thing that creature would do. “I will never lie to you—”

Michael cut him off. “You said no one cares.” He scooted back further, curling in on himself, wings closing up. “You said no one misses me. No one is coming for me.” A single tear trailed silently down his cheek. “Sammy hates me. You said that.” He disappeared behind the ragged feathers. And Lucifer felt a hole in his chest open up to consume him. Because that had all been true. 

But not anymore.

He swallowed a couple times, blinked to force his emotions to stay in check, clenched and unclenched his fists, and approached again. He rolled his shoulders to unfurl his wings as he sat by his brother. When nothing happened, he reached out to stroke the black feathers on the nearest wing, hoping it was the right thing to do. His brother flinched, and he almost pulled his hand back, but then the wing lifted into the hand, hungry for contact. 

For a time, nothing happened. Lucifer ran his hand over the feathers, smoothing them and stroking. Michael must have noticed the gentle light emanating from his wings, because finally his own abused back ones opened, and he gaped. Then he squinted, overwhelmed by the brightness, and for a moment, Lucifer feared he may‘ve broken him. Then his eyes turned to Lucifer’s face, and as his brow furrowed, one trembling hand reached out to touch his forehead. 

The lost angel trailed his fingers down over Lucifer’s face, following the path of the scar which was not there. Then he pulled his hand away, and tears snaked pathways down his cheeks.

“Not real,” he gasped and the wings closed up again.

Not real? What?

“Not real, not real, not real...” He rocked back and forth as he chanted. 

Desperate to ease his brother’s pain in any way he could, Lucifer did something he hadn’t done since before his brother left to face the Beyond. He grabbed him and pulled him in. Michael yelped in alarm, and bloody Hell, it was loud. Both angels flinched at the sound, but Lucifer shrugged it off. Michael seized up as Lucifer drew him in. His wings spread in alarm like he might fly away, and his eyes shut tight. He increased the volume of his chanting as Lucifer’s arms encircled him, and the fallen angel hugged his lost twin close to his chest. Michael’s wings flapped feebly before falling limp behind him, one hanging at an odd angle.

“I’m real,” Lucifer reassured.

Michael trembled. Then, almost out of nowhere, his arms reached up to wrap around his waist, and he clung to him like he was afraid that Lucifer would vanish if he let go—which, all things considered, was probably exactly what he thought. The abandoned angel wept. Broken hiccuping, stuttering sobs cut into the quiet. His fingers dug in, fisting into the fabric of Lucifer’s jacket, and his face burrowed into the vest.

They stayed like that until the abandoned angel settled. And longer still, as Lucifer held him, fighting to keep his own grief—and guilt—in check.

“I’m taking you away from here,” Lucifer finally promised when he felt he could speak again. 

Of course, saying one was taking an easily overstimulated archangel away from somewhere was much easier than actually doing so. 

First, he tried carrying him, but Michael kept flapping his wings in panic. Then he tried to see if he could walk or fly on his own, which he could, but he kept going back to the wall, insisting that if he left, no one would ever find him. Never mind Lucifer had clearly already done so. Then, after a bit of a struggle, he convinced him to put his wings away and allow himself to be carried bridal style, hands over ears, and eyes tightly shut. This, at long last, finally worked. But even so, when they exited the nothingness and the barrage of sensations that existed in creation met them, his brother panicked all over again.

He deliberated for a moment, almost resorting to praying for Amenadiel to come and take him to the Silver City, but he quickly rejected that notion. Those feathered dullards wouldn’t know what to do with him. They would probably just find a way to blame Lucifer and toss Michael in a room so they could go about pretending nothing was amiss. No, Michael was his responsibility. No one else’s. After some consideration, he decided his penthouse was probably the best place for him, and he promptly flew them there.

He deposited his overwhelmed twin on the couch, fetched a soft blanket to drape over his unclothed body, shut all the curtains, and sat at his side. When the shaking stopped, he tapped his brother lightly on the shoulder and waited. Slowly, Michael’s hands left his ears to grip at the blanket, pulling it around him as his eyes opened. The dim lighting was similar enough to the non-light he had grown used to, and the dark muted colors Lucifer favored offered a gentler reintroduction to creation—to _things_ in general. And thank Dad for soundproofing.

Michael looked around in wonder. He brought the blanket to his cheek and melted into it as his eyes lingering on the lighting by the bar. Then his gaze ventured to the piano, and finally, his eyes started to roam over everything. His mouth hung partially open. 

This, Lucifer decided, was a good reaction, so he stood and headed to the bar to get himself a drink. As he poured, he reminded himself not to offer any to his guest. Anything more than water would probably overstimulate him. Hopefully, _water_ wasn’t too much. Bloody Hell, this was going to be hard.

As he made his way back to the couch, the rescued angel stared at the tumbler in confusion. “What?”

Lucifer opened and closed his mouth a few times, not sure how to start. “It’s, ah, that is to say...” Lucifer sighed, then he gestured grandly around them as he took a seat. “Welcome back to creation,” he decided. Michael actually smiled. Very slightly. Then he looked around again, still in a state of wonder. 

“This... where?”

“This is the mortal plane.” Lucifer took a sip and offered a hesitant smile. Michael’s jaw dropped open.

“Father’s new project?”

New Project. Lucifer forced back the ache in his chest at his brother’s words. Michael had been torn away from everything for far too long. “Yes, Mi-Mi.”

His brother pulled the blanket around himself more securely and burrowed into the couch cushions. At first, he didn’t say anything more. He just looked around in awe, but then his brow furrowed again and he looked at Lucifer with a tilted head. 

“But it’s so small!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: Lucifer found Michael.
> 
> Bad news: he’s not ready for this.
> 
> Lucifer isn’t either.


	5. Circumspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mazikeen” is plotting
> 
> Michael and Lucifer are adapting.

Mazikeen made her way back to the abandoned zoo. The warring memories of coming there to rescue Decker as the demon clashed with her own memories of staying there as himself—as _Michael._ It was disorienting to think too hard about anything other than who she— _he_ was in the moment, the urge to embrace the identity of her current form overpowering. It was easy to lose oneself to it.

It was less complicated being Michael. His angel had no overpowering memories of his own to push his thoughts aside, and anyway, he’d been him for so long, the continuous memories stitched together helped him stay true to himself when he was the archangel. When he was _himself._

Mazikeen needed to think. She needed to think like Michael, and the familiar location helped to bring that side of her out. Walking down the overgrown path, a shadow swept across the cracked cement, and glancing up, she saw a raven fly by, it’s silky midnight wings illuminated by the sunlight overhead. Beautiful. It reminded him of his angel. The bird landed in a tree, a shiny trinket clutched in its beak. A necklace, perhaps? Maze smirked. Angels were attracted to shiny things, too. 

Returning her focus to the path in front of her, she found the building she was looking for, and a surge of affection hit as she entered what had been his room. It was an old aviary showroom, glass walls and plant life making it stand out from the other enclosures, but the thing he liked best about it was his own personal little touch.

Shortly after arriving on Earth, Michael discovered Grumpy Cat. The character resonated with him. He collected images and had them printed out to make a kind of shrine in the corner, complete with the bobble head Grumpy Cat he lucked out with at a second hand store. 

He chuckled with his unfamiliar feminine voice, as he picked up the trinket, and let his eyes roam over the pictures taped to the glass. 

“Good Morning”? No such thing.

I like the sound you make when you shut up.

Like a good neighbor, stay over there.

He sat next to the shrine and set the toy down, only to pick up the real treasure. Move over Bible, Saint Michael found a new ‘Good Book.’ It was a children’s book, complete with cheeky illustrations featuring Grumpy Cat. It talked about how all the animals wanted to play with the moody protagonist, who, naturally, just wanted to be left alone. Near the end of the book, the silly creatures decided to race. They got into position, and counted down. “Ready? Set?” He turned the page. “NO.”

Michael laughed, feeling more himself in spite of the form he was using.

That book summed up his feelings about the others—his supposed family—perfectly, and a bitterness settled over his heart. For a time, he tried. He really did. When his angel’s feelings for their family started to get the better of him, he allowed himself to believe that maybe he didn’t have to be alone. It had been pointless, of course. They weren’t as interested in being friendly with him as he was with them, and slowly, his own misgivings about celestials won out.

His angel was the only decent one of them. And that was because he kept him safe, away from the others, free from the corruption that infected them all.

Just because they were instrumental in forming universes, they thought themselves above all other forms of life. And they had no sense of right or wrong. Their idea of ‘Good,’ was doing what the deity in charge said. They had been like that in his original universe, and these ones were just as bad.

If Dad ordered them to obliterate all creation, they would do it gladly. No questions asked. At their core, they were heartless monsters.

He remembered the first time he met a celestial. He remembered escaping destruction by leaving reality—and those he cared for—behind. He remembered falling through the doorway and being trapped in the nothingness with only grief and anger as companions.

Until his angel found him.

His angel saved him.

But now...

Michael sighed. Lucifer had him now. It made him sick. Lucifer would try to corrupt him. But now that Michael had been revealed, he couldn’t just go back to being himself without everyone being suspicious. The only way to fix things was to play this game, to wait for his angel to break, and to wait for Lucifer to inevitably mess everything up. When that happened, a couple switch-ups and a staged death later, then everything would be set right again.

He gave them a week, give or take a day.

But waiting was hard.

Especially when considering his current situation. Being Mazikeen was like driving a stolen car. He could only get away with it for so long. He would need to become someone else. Soon.

Someone no one would dare suspect.

***

Michael followed the tingle of fear through the darkness. He could almost taste it: a fear of failure, of hurting someone close, of not knowing what to do, and the crippling fear of rejection. It was no mystery to him where his brother’s new fears came from, and a deep shame weighed on his chest. Samael wasn’t wrong to think him weak. Or fragile. He wasn’t wrong to worry that the rest of their family would reject a broken angel, but knowing his brother was afraid made him sad. 

He wanted to help, even though a part of him was grateful for the fear, which helped to reassure him that his brother was still there. That he was still real. Unless—

Those all seemed like fears Michael could imagine on his own.

Wrapping the soft ‘blanket’ around himself, he followed the presence of fear down the walled path—‘hall,’ his twin called it—into the open area with the ‘bar,’ ‘piano,’ and ‘couch.’ He hadn’t wanted to leave the couch, but Samael insisted it was late, and a ‘bed’ would be better for sleeping, so he gave him his own bed and ‘room.’ Then he left.

Of course, Michael couldn’t sleep. He didn’t blame his brother for wanting space. He could only guess at what he was thinking when he looked at Michael. They were twins, they shared the same features, but Michael was a disappointment. He tried to stay in his spot, to honor his brother’s wishes. It was the least he could do. But being alone proved difficult.

He found himself second-guessing everything that had happened, half convinced he finally lost his senses completely. Was he imagining this whole thing? But then he felt the fear.

Michael ascended the rise in the floor to enter another room and found Samael on a bed, partially covered by a blanket. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. 

“Sam?” He instantly regretted speaking. Who was he to disturb his brother? But Samael’s eyes opened, and he looked at him with _concern,_ so maybe he would be forgiven. “You used to be fearless.” His brother’s fearlessness had always made him feel safe, before he... Michael swallowed the lump in his throat. That was a long time ago. “What happened?”

“I apologize. Is it upsetting you?” His brother sat up, blinking. “It’s not too much, is it?”

Of course, Samael worried about damaging him, even when he was trying to help. Michael chewed on his lip and looked at his hands, still clutching the blanket. 

“No. It’s just...” He took a half step back. “I am sorry I have given you cause to fear.”

At first, Samael just stared at him, seemingly confused by his words, then he smiled sadly.

“You did nothing wrong.” He started to lay back down, but he hesitated when Michael didn’t move. “Is there something you need?” He rested on an elbow as he asked.

“No. I... Just... it’s...” He didn’t want to burden his brother. He had no right to ask, but— “I was afraid you weren’t real,” he confessed, pulling the blanket up to his face. His wings twitched, and he resisted the desire to snatch a feather to distract himself from the shame eating at him. Plucking feathers was unbecoming.

“I’m real. I’m not going anywhere,” Samael reassured.

“I know. You must be.” He fidgeted with the blanket. It felt real. He told himself it was. “I could never dream all this up... I mean, I don’t _think_ I can... but I don’t...” he hesitated, worried about how his brother would react to the truth. But Samael deserved the truth. “I don’t trust my mind.”

His brother sighed. Then he snorted as he scooted back, patting the freshly vacated spot next to him on the bed. “I understand. Here, if it helps, this bed is big enough.” Another sigh, and a rueful smile. At first, Michael didn’t move, but when Samael motioned for him to come, he obeyed. He slid onto the soft surface and laid down. Samael flopped back and closed his eyes, and Michael watched his chest rise and fall.

Real. He was real. This was... his doubts started to edge in, but then a solid hand was on his, and the uncertainty vanished. 

This was real. 

Michael closed his eyes, feeling—for the first time in a long time—like he was safe.

Day One:

“You can’t go around wearing a blanket everywhere, so clothes are needed,” Lucifer decided.

The morning light peaked in through the black curtains, drawing his brother’s attention, but at this statement, he turned his gaze to the pacing Devil.

Michael blinked. “I... clothes—?”

“I’ve so much to teach you, Mi-Mi. But for now, it’s best you follow my lead. Fashion isn’t just something you learn overnight,” He chuckled at the thought as he took a sip of coffee spiked whisky. Their idiot siblings still hadn’t figured out how to properly dress themselves.

Michael pulled the blanket around his shoulders and furrowed his brow. “Fashion—?”

Lucifer hardly registered his brother’s question. “But one thing’s certain, I won’t have you wearing turtle necks with suits.” He made a face and took another gulp of hot liquid, pushing the dreadful image from his mind. What had that creature been thinking? Michael tilted his head. “No stuffy professor look for you,” the Devil announced resolutely.

“Stuffy professor?” Michael ran his fingers over the blanket, relishing in the softness as he watched Lucifer, who was back to pacing.

“Never mind that,” he dismissed. He stopped to look at his twin, scrutinizing. Even with the scar and slumped shoulder, humans would find him undeniably attractive, seeing as he had the same face as Lucifer. He just needed to find a way to make the injuries work for him. “I think, perhaps we oughta go with more of a dignified—ah— _tragic hero_ look. Yes, that’ll work well. You can be quiet and respectable.” He took another sip. The fact that his brother didn’t know a lick of English would certainly help with the ‘quiet’ bit. “Yes, that will do quite nicely.”

Michael sank back into the couch—which he seemed to have once again claimed as his—and disappeared deeper into the blanket until only his eyes and curling hair peaked out. “I don’t—”

“We just need to find the clothes that best accomplish this.” As he said this, he remembered the assortment of catalogues he had stashed away. Designers were always trying to rope him in as a model. Of course they were. No one better to make their clothes stand out then the Devil. He glanced at his twin and grinned. It looked as though they were in luck. Michael wasn’t him, exactly, but close enough. He kept talking as he made his way to the drawer he’d shoved them into. 

“Clothes are very important, mind. People judge you for your appearance. But with my help, everyone’ll love you.” He found the drawer and after setting his mug down, he started looking through his options “Not that you aren’t already likable, mind.” He heard Michael walking up behind him. “But every little bit helps.”

“Is it because of my wings?” his brother voiced softly.

“No, you’ll be keeping those out of sight, so the shape they’re in hardly matters, Mi-Mi.”

He stopped rummaging to look at his brother. He clung tightly to the blanket, fingers working into it, and eyes glued to the floor. His wings were folded behind him pensively. Lucifer’s mood dropped. His brother still looked lost.

“I just want you to get a fresh start,” he tried to explain, “especially since that maggot parading around pretending to be you was so deplorable,” Lucifer turned back to the drawer. “Clothes will help prove to everyone that you’re not him. Far better, in fact.” Lucifer paused. He had a few catalogues in his hands, all of them featuring suits, but somehow, when he pictured them on his brother, it felt off. “Hmm...” He turned to take him in again.

Michael watched him cautiously. His withdrawn posture accentuated the slope of his bad shoulder. Even with the blanket obscuring the view, Lucifer could see how his weak arm was less defined, thinner, and though he was making an effort to stand straight, it was undeniably difficult for him.

Guilt lanced through the Devil as he took his twin’s condition in. It was his fault. He did this to him. He had _wanted_ to hurt Michael. And worse, he had _wanted_ Michael to suffer. He wanted him broken, because that’s what Lucifer did, wasn’t it? He wrecked everything he touched.

Michael must have seen something in his expression, because his posture slipped even more and the blanket closed more securely around him. Even his wings shrank back in shame. This would not do. He wouldn’t have his brother blaming himself for this. With a fortifying breath, Lucifer willed his hands to stop trembling, and smiled encouragingly at him.

“I suppose with your bad arm, suits may not be your first choice.” He could only imagine how difficult buttoning dress shirts would likely be for him. He discarded the catalogues featuring stylish formalwear and searched for something more comfortable. “Let me see,” his eyes landed on a catalogue containing a variety of casual and semi formal options. “Ah yes!” Almost giddy at the prospect of helping his brother learn how to dress, he handed it over. Michael took it curiously. 

“What is this?”

“Take a look at these,” He started flipping through the pages for him, pointing at the various human models posing within. “Tell me which outfits you like best,” As he spoke, he led his twin back to the couch. “I’ll have them tailored and shipped here. Let me go ready your closet while you browse.”

He rushed into the guest room he decided was Michael’s and set to work planning and arranging things. Michael needed 14 outfits, at least. Seven standard, and seven specific to different occasions. He would need one formal wear, something for the beach... hmmm... he would make sure each outfit hung as a set. Michael would be able to understand wearing sets. He chuckled at the disasters his oblivious brother would likely come up with if left to mix and match as he saw fit. No, that would not be allowed. He would need matching shoes for each look, too. He needed something in the closet to properly display the shoes with each set. Two pairs of socks for each outfit, silk boxers—

“Are these younger siblings?” His brother called from the couch. 

Can’t a Devil work in peace? Huffing, he made his way back to his twin, who was still leafing through the catalogue with a look of disbelief. 

“They’re humans, brother. Mortals.”

Michael stopped flipping to look at him. “Mortals?”

Oh, Michael didn’t know about mortality.

This realization stopped him short. How was he to—nope. Not today. That was a problem for another time. 

“They live in the mortal plane; here.” He remarked, completely avoiding the real issue.

His brother considered that for a moment. “Is it rude to show wings in the mortal plane?”

Lucifer blinked at him. Then it clicked. “They’ve no wings to hide, Mi-Mi.”

From the way his brother reacted, he might as well‘ve said they were giant floating eyeballs. He pulled back and his wings puffed up, fluttering in distress. “No wings? That’s dreadful!”

Lucifer shrugged. “They’re used to it.” Then, curiosity getting the better of him, he approached to look over his shoulder. “Find anything you like?”

Michael took a moment to snap out of his shock over what he probably thought were wingless angels, but eventually he pointed at a sleek black dress with light blue trim and a flowing asymmetrical skirt tapering off to lighter shades of blue at the end. “This looks nice.”

Well, hmm. Not what Lucifer had in mind, but... fine. He looked good in dresses, so why not? 14 outfits and 1 dress, then. But he would need matching shoes, accessories, purse and jacket. His brother had a lot to learn. 

“And _this!”_ Michael’s voice rose up a notch with excitement, pulling the Devil from his fashion plans, and Lucifer followed his finger to—What? No, no, no. It was, by far, the worst thing in the catalogue: a ‘retro’ 80’s inspired geometric hoodie? Lucifer shuddered. Absolutely not! There was no way he would permit his _identical_ twin to be seen in something so heinous. But as he opened his mouth to protest, his brother’s eyes met his, and he looked so... so _hopeful._

Bloody Hell.

This was going to be much harder than he initially thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... I know what you’re all thinking, right now: “azure, is that raven somehow important?”
> 
> Well, w—
> 
> wait, that’s not what you were thinking?
> 
> Oh, never mind. Forget I said that, forget the raven... moving on. 😒


	6. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael: My brother is amazing.  
> Lucifer: What am I gonna do when he learns the truth. How am I supposed to tell him?  
> Linda: Doppelgänger’s are real? My baby is in danger.  
> Maze: Yep.  
> Dan: My brain is still pudding  
> Amenadiel: Yep

Day Two:

“A doppelgänger? Those are real?” Linda held the phone away in shock. This was not the conversation she expected to start her day with. Nope.

“Yes. Changelings who specialize in snatching a person’s life away.” Lucifer replied smoothly.

“Changelings. As in shapeshifters.” Linda laughed nervously into the phone. “Why not?” 

“More or less, but most changelings prefer replacing infants.”

What? A shiver ran up her spine. Her heart quailed as she looked at Charlie admiring the toys on his mobile.

Lucifer kept talking. “It’s ideal for them, because if they’re accepted and loved by the family, they can bond to the form and no longer require imprints.”

“Is there any way to tell the difference?” Linda demanded in a panic. 

She wished Amenadiel was there. But no, he was with Dan, who apparently hadn’t slept last night. The angel had barely gotten back when the delirious man called, rambling about anything and everything that popped into his head.

“Oh, it’s quite easy to tell if you know what you're looking for. Changelings struggle when they first become infants. It’s the dramatic change in size, mostly, I think. They tend to get sick. Sometimes it can take weeks to recover.” As if on cue, Charlie sneezed.

Just a cold. Celestials don’t get sick. Linda’s eyes started to water. Had something happened to her precious baby? “What happens to the real baby if the family accepts the changeling?” Her heart was hammering.

“I suppose if the changeling doesn’t need it for imprints, it’s left to die.”

No. Linda’s vision blurred.

“Why would God create something so awful?” she blurted. Her heart rate increased, the ringing in her ears turned into a full on siren, and her stomach clenched. No, no, no, no. Charlie was fine, he was right in front of her. Nothing replaced him. She was jumping to conclusions. Right. Right?

Charlie rocked from side to side, trying to turn over on his play mat, unaware of his Mommy’s deteriorating mental state. Linda needed to calm down. She needed to—

The Devil snorted. “Dear Old Dad is responsible for creating a lot of dreadful things. Cuckoos do the exact same thing to other birds.” This frustratingly accurate statement was not helping her to calm down. “But this particular monstrosity has nothing to do with Him. Changelings are remnants from a dead and gone reality. The product of a different God, overseeing and playing with their own toy box.”

Other God. Other reality. Replaced babies. Linda was at her limit. This was too much information. But the oblivious Devil on the other line continued his narrative. Something about how even though Mi-Mi was new at the time—yes, Lucifer used to call him Mi-Mi—angels were never infants, and well, no one in his family knew a bloody thing about accepting people anyway, and—

The door opened and Maze stormed in. Linda ended the call, dropped the phone, and ran to her friend.

“Maze! I was worried about you!” She hugged the demon as she greeted her. Ever since Amenadiel showed up alone the night before, Linda had been beside herself with concern. Mazikeen would never admit it, but she was really struggling with her abandonment issues, and being left behind in Hell would only make things worse.

She released the hug and tried to school her expression.

“Was that Lucifer?” The demon demanded, glaring at the phone on the recliner. Linda pulled back and wiped her tears. She nodded. “You need me to stab him for you?” 

Oh, Mazikeen. Sweet, dependable, violent Mazikeen. Linda could just kiss her. But no. “He told me about changelings. And how they replace babies, and—”

“You think someone replaced Charlie?”

Yes. No. She didn’t know. Linda shrugged nervously. “Is it possible?”

Maze turned to watch Charlie intently, an almost cruel grin on her lips. “Babies are easy targets.”

***

Lucifer made his way to the bar, wearing a robe and still toweling down his hair after the fiasco in the bathroom. 

It had been a hectic morning. It started with a phone call from Linda, followed by a text from the Detective. Apparently emojis were not sufficient? Ballox. 

He texted back, explaining everything. He even included a picture of his twin. This was followed by a call from a frantic Chloe who couldn’t quite process any of it, but eventually, he got through to her, and all was well... that is until the Detective teased him about finally knowing what he would look like if he wasn’t so fussy about appearances. Fussy? How dare—? Then she said it was _cute!_ Even better than the ‘homeless magician’ look, she joked.

This would not do. He had to remedy the situation before the Lucifer Morningstar brand could suffer further insult. So, after the Detective hung up, Lucifer led his twin into the bathroom, fully intent on grooming him, which only led to madness. Michael, it seemed, did not like being groomed.

But after Lucifer eventually resorted to making a bubble bath, his distressed brother relaxed, too intrigued by the suds to resist, so the exhausted—and soaked—Devil was finally able to do what was needed. After which he sent Michael, robed, clean, and groomed, to the bar so he could change out of his soggy suit. 

And that’s when the questions started.

Michael sat obediently by the bar, looking at Lucifer with wide-eyed interest, his latest inquiry still hanging on his lips.

“Stars,” Lucifer explained, taking a seat next to his brother and pouring a tumbler of scotch. He noted Michael was still toying with the glass of water he had been given. He’d yet to try it. 

“So you are called, ‘Lucifer’ now because you created light in the mortal realm. By making stars...” He scrunched his nose up in confusion. 

Lucifer shrugged. “Yes, more or less.” he took a sip, then he huffed at his brother’s still untouched glass. “Drink, it will do you good.”

Michael glared at the water, and the finger that had been twirling around in it lifted from the glass to flick a few resentful droplets Lucifer’s way. “I still don’t see why I should put something for cleaning into my body.” 

Stubborn twit.

Lucifer huffed again as he dabbed at the wetness on his cheek, before taking another sip of scotch. He didn’t want to think about why or how his brother developed such a complex about water. “Would you rather I give you some of what I’ve got?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I want to see your stars, Sa... Lucifer.” He kept toying with the water.

Right. Lucifer downed the rest of his scotch and swallowed hard. Michael wanted to see what his twin had been up to since his abduction. “They’re very bright,” he warned.

“They emit light. I assumed as much.” His brother frowned indignantly. Then his shoulders sagged. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

Michael’s expression shifted through the stages of grief to settle on resigned acceptance so quickly Lucifer almost missed it. It felt like a knife twisting in his heart to see his brother give up so quickly. Fine. He wanted to see stars, Lucifer would take him to see stars. But not from Earth. 

“Just remember, I warned you.” And he stood to unfurl his wings. 

Michael lit up in much the same way the urchin would when Lucifer let her drive his corvette, his wings spreading in anticipation of flight. But their ragged, plucked condition bothered the lightbringer. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Michael attacked a few coverts while Lucifer had been on the phone. That couldn’t be good for him. With that thought, he got an idea. 

The Devil grinned. “If I take you, it’s a favor, and I expect something in return.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up, but then he shook his head, chuckling. “You’re still doing favor exchanges?”

“Always.”

His brother considered before speaking again. “What is it you desire?”

Lucifer sputtered. Hearing his catchphrase uttered back at him in Enochian was not something he was prepared for. But Michael stared at him in befuddlement over his reaction, so Lucifer composed himself. He adjusted his cufflinks, smoothed his jacket, and ran his fingers through his hair once. 

“Give me your word that you will do your best to resist plucking feathers.”

Michael took a step back, eyes widening. His breathing hitched and his arms flew up defensively. Not the reaction Lucifer expected. Very well, then. Lucifer rubbed his temples and made a mental note not to bring the topic up again. 

“Fine, forget I said it. Just drink the bloody water when we get back. Deal?”

***

Dan stared at the man— _angel_ in front of him. 

Nope. He was still not ready to process this.

Amenadiel’s mouth was moving. 

Dan always liked Amenadiel. Him being an angel kinda made sense. Lucifer being the Devil did not. Michael, from what he gathered, fit the description of the Devil better. 

Did they trade places at the last minute before the fall? 

Yeah, yeah, that made more sense. Maybe the real Saint Michael was accidentally cast into Hell and he became the Lucifer Dan knew now and— no. Lucifer wasn’t _evil_ but he was too much of a dick to be a Saint.

Amenadiel’s mouth was still moving.

Dan remembered how the angel reassured him that Charlotte was in heaven. And, oh, wow! That was _true!_ But did that mean her dreams about having been in Hell were true, also? Dan didn’t want to go to Hell. Would he go to Hell for shooting Lucifer? The Devil was clearly mad at him, and Dan knew payback wasn’t beneath him. 

“Dan?” Amenadiel had both hands on Dan’s shoulders, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“I’m here,” he assured. Amenadiel smiled. 

“Good. I’m glad you’re taking this so well. If you ever have any questions—” 

Was he taking this well? He wasn’t sure that was true. Dan fidgeted with his bracelet. Positive vibes, right? It was all placebo, but it still helped. Yeah, he could just keep going on living like nothing changed. Right? Michael had been dealt with. He could patch things up with Lucifer. Amenadiel was his friend. Nothing really changed. Except that now all the Luciferness finally made sense.

Who else knew, though? Chloe. Obviously, Linda. What about Ella? He was about to ask when Amenadiel’s phone started to ring.

Amenadiel was an angel. 

“Linda!” The angel smiled brightly into the phone.

Why did Amenadiel need a phone? “Can’t people just... I don’t know, pray to you? If they wanna reach you?” Dan chuckled.

“I’m sorry, Dan’s talking to me, give me a moment,” Amenadiel pulled the phone away. Then his eyes locked with Dan’s “What did you say?”

“Do you have wings? What about Lucifer? Wait, can Lucifer fly???” Mierda. Lucifer was a flying dick! Dan giggled. If he ever partook in the mile high club angel/devil style, did that make him a flying f—

“Uh, yeah, angels have wings. Lucifer, in spite of how he feels about himself, is still an angel—”

“Does he have horns? Where’s your halo?” Dan laughed harder. Amenadiel would look so strange with a halo. “Am I going to Hell? Can you talk to Charlotte? Can you tell her I love her?” He was starting to freak out again. But, well, maybe that couldn’t be helped. He was talking to _an angel._ “Were dinosaurs real, or evolution?”

Amenadiel sighed. “It’s possible my divine nature is still overwhelming you. Linda said you were out of it last time you talked. Do you want to try again with her?” 

Dan shrugged. Maybe Linda would be better. “I... yeah, she can help me with my... with coping with— how to be okay, right?”

“She can help you with all of that. And while I would love to answer all your questions,” he held up his phone.

“Oh, right, right, right. No problem!” Linda was probably calling about Charlie. Who had a cold. Amenadiel had Dad stuff to do. “I’ll just, yeah.” He turned to leave, waving a hyper hand at his friend by way of farewell.

Only to remember he was in his own apartment. Dan laughed, then he nervously snatched his keys and left, anyway.

Amenadiel was already talking on the phone again. Something about Maze, and something about... changing? Dan shrugged again. He could always just make an appointment with Linda and ask her all about it.

Yeah, Linda would have all the answers. 

She was smart.

***

Michael was in a daze. His brother said he made light... but... but he never imagined how amazing it would be. As they returned to the still alien surroundings of what his twin called ‘home,’ he found himself rendered speechless. Stars were amazing. And very bright. Sama— _Lucifer_ preened as Michael gaped at him.

“Rather marvelous, are they not?”

They were. They really were. His _brother_ was marvelous. And suddenly he felt out of place again. Because what was he? A pathetic shadow in comparison, if that. He fidgeted, trying not to show how upset he was, but he was out of practice with hiding his feelings, so he sought a quick subject change instead.

He made his way to the room where he saw what looked like strange blades. Where were they? Oh, right. In the block... thing. He reached for one, took it, and brought it toward his wrist, only to have his brother catch the hand with the blade.

“Mi-Mi? What are you—?” His eyes were wide in alarm, and an overpowering fear of loss radiated off him.

Michael didn’t understand. “You made me agree to drink bloody water, how else am I to do so?”

The following conversation... it was just too much. ‘Bloody’ didn’t mean bloody, these ‘knives’ shouldn’t be able to cut him, but best not to risk it. What was the purpose of blades if they didn’t cut? They were for food. Food went inside the body. Was that what the knives were for? To cut oneself open and put food in? No? Why did food go inside the body? One was meant to ‘eat’ it, so one wouldn’t get ‘hungry.’ What was hungry? In the end it was too much, and Michael shamefully retreated to the couch, and curled up under the blanket. 

When next he dared to peak out, Samael was watching him. He knew that look. It was pity. He was a disgrace. He wanted to vanish, but then his twin held out the water in its clear container. He cringed away from it. He didn’t dislike water. After all, it had been _something_ when he had nothing, but it unsettled him. Still, he promised. As Sam started to lower the glass, a conflicted expression in his eyes, Michael tentatively reached his hand out to take it, and his brother handed it over 

“I’m sorry, Mi-Mi. I shouldn’t’ve pushed you.” The Lightbringer sat next to him. The look on his face made Michael feel inadequate, but he pushed the feeling aside.

“You just want me to put this inside me?”

“Drink it, yes.”

There were so many new words. Remembering how Lucifer did it with the orange colored water earlier, he brought it to his mouth, mimicking his movements, and a strange feeling of... of _relief_ filled his mouth and throat. Oh, that’s why he was supposed to ‘drink’ water. He eagerly repeated the action, then he smiled at his brother, appreciative, and desperate to fix the tension in the air.

“They’re beautiful,” he said.

“What?” Lucifer furrowed his brow.

“Your stars. They’re beautiful. Our family must be very proud of you.” Not like him. He was a failure, nothing like Lucifer. But, for some reason, his twin’s expression grew strangely dark. He covered it with a dazzling smile, but not before Michael saw it. 

“Yes, the stars are beautiful. I’m glad you appreciate them.” His brother agreed, a strangely sad smile gracing his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what is doppel up to now?  
> Also, yay, stars, boo for self esteem issues.
> 
> And... yes, Dan, Lucifer is a flying dick. 😂


	7. Lacuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella.
> 
> ...and a few other characters, too.

Day Three:

Ella hung up the phone. 

Time off.

The lieutenant told her to take time off.

And now she didn’t know what to do.

Day one, AP (After Pete): She tried going to work, but she couldn’t stop thinking of _him._ Yesterday, she couldn’t even convince herself to get up. She’d called in sick, thinking that since Chloe was safe again, she could relax and just focus on herself. But her mind kept going back to… to the room filled with flowers, the needles, his hands around her neck, the interrogation… 

After finding out Pete hadn’t been the one to take Chloe, it felt like reality was closing in around Ella, but then the detective was back, giving a little speech about how thankful she was. And no one was saying anything about who took her. 

It didn’t add up.

Ella had a niggling feeling Chloe and Lucifer knew, but for some reason, they weren’t telling anyone. A good mystery like this should’ve been enough to keep her distracted. But when she tried to find the missing pieces, she just kept getting stuck thinking about _him._ Pete.

And staying home had been a disaster, too.

Video games failed her. One round of ‘Among Us,’ and _Pete_ was in her head. She couldn’t get over how nothing about him had been sus. 

Binging on Star Trek failed, too. She put on season one of the original series... then episode 5 happened. ‘The Enemy Within’ made her think of him, again. Nice Kirk was like the Pete she thought she knew, and evil Kirk... Well, then she couldn’t stop thinking about cosplaying with him... and... that was the end of that. 

And here she was, Day 3 AP, being told to stay home.

Ella snuggled into her softest blanket. She was exhausted. She was tired in ways she didn’t know she could be. Even her voice was tired. The lieutenant must have heard it, because when she called to explain why she was coming in late, he mandated she take time off. ‘To process.’ And if there was anything at all she needed—

She needed sleep. She couldn’t sleep. The stress hormones finally stopped coursing through her body, and all she felt was drained. She won, right? She stopped the bad guy. But she _felt_ defeated. Hollow. 

Not even margaritas could fill this hole.

Nor take away the truth. A truth she tried to deny, but couldn’t.

Pete said there was darkness in her.

Everyone at work insisted he was insane, but they didn’t know. They didn’t know her past. They didn’t know _her._ The real her. If they did, they would stay away. Ella sniffed. 

She put so much effort into denying the darkness, but it always found a way to surface. A tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek, and she laughed humorlessly at herself; at how she was so idiotically thirsty for the wrong guys. Bad dudes. God, she really thought she could finally be happy with a good guy, but he turned out to be...

A hiccuping sob pushed its way out from deep in her chest.

What did it say about her, when the only guy who ever _really_ liked her was a sociopath?

She buried her face in her hands. It scared her to think about how easily she suspected trouble when the paper sucked up to the wall. Or how natural breaking into that secret room had been. She didn’t hesitate to swipe a few needles. And the feeling of driving them into his chest: she should have felt relief, right? Why was the feeling in that instant exhilaration? A part of her—a _big_ part—felt alive. 

And even as she wrestled with the guilt of having enjoyed getting him, her hyper thoughts kept going back to how close she had come to... Ella shuddered. Every little thing set her off. Footsteps in the hall. A barking dog. Margaret knocking something over in the bathroom. She kept telling herself she was safe, but she didn’t feel safe at all.

Ella blinked. The tears were starting up again. Great. One would think she would be less pathetic about this. But no. Apparently not. She burrowed under her blanket and wished she could disappear. Or at least sleep. She was so tired.

She reached her breaking point. She couldn’t cope. This was it. She just couldn’t...

Her eyes grew heavy. As she laid there, the tears dried, leaving tracks on her cheeks. She fell into a kind of limbo, until a disturbance pulled her violently from her stupor. It was a knock at the door. Adrenaline flooded her system as Margarette clucked and fluttered angrily from the bathroom.

Fine. She was fine. This was fine.

She was not fine.

Ella snatched her bat'leth—the one given to her in college—and approached the door. She was being paranoid, but... no harm in being careful, right?

Raising it as if to strike, she cracked open the door and—the terror vanished, leaving her tired and empty all over again.

“Hey, Ella, can I come in?” Chloe smiled and held up a coffee and what looked like a bag of pastries.

Ella tucked the sleepy exhaustion away and put on a bright smile. “Yeah, sure!” She eased the door open and stepped aside, only to remember the bat’leth she was still wielding. Shoot, that looked super suspicious. Quick to cover her paranoia, she brought it forward, and put on a stern expression. 

“Ye’el. TlhIngan maH! Haghlu’meH QaQ jajvam!” She nodded solemnly before returning the weapon to its stand. Chloe laughed and shook her head as she came in. Good. It worked.

“What was that?” Her friend grinned as she handed the drink over. 

Ella breathed it in. Oh, it was heavenly. Or sinful, if one were to ask Lucifer. “Klingon. I invited you in and said, ‘we are Klingons, and it’s a good day to die.” Mierda, that sounded too dark. Ella scrambled to cover her tracks. “Which, yeah, you know Klingons, everything is battle and combat with them.” A nervous laughter bubbled up. “I totally wasn’t freaking out or anything. Just...” Ella sighed. Who was she kidding?

Both woman sat on the couch as Chloe sipped her own coffee. “It’s okay, Ella. I get it. If I were you, I’d be checking my sidearm every other minute.”

“Right.” Chloe was dealing, too. Ella busied herself by opening the bag to find scones. “But...”

Chloe put her hand on Ella’s. It was shaking, and she hadn’t even noticed. “I took a couple days off. Figured we could both use a friend right now. What do you say?”

Ella could cry, she was so grateful. “But what about Lucifer?” she blurted.

“He has a family matter to deal with.” Chloe shrugged. 

Ella’s eyes widened. Did that pendejo ditch them again? “Seriously? You were just kidnapped, and he left???”

Chloe laughed. “Oh, no. He’s still in town.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, no, he just got back in town again, technically. He just... can’t... right now.”

Ella smirked. Chloe was being dodgy. But whatever it was, it was between her and her partner. “Okay, you. Keep your secrets.” When Chloe just sipped her coffee, Ella sighed. Lucifer would have gotten the reference. She stared at the scones, feeling empty again.

“When’s the last time you had a decent meal?” Chloe inquired. Good question. Ella had been too busy trying to cope to think about food. Chloe nodded. “The scones will help, but you gotta let me treat you to breakfast.”

Ella started to cry. That sounded wonderful.

***

The first shipment of clothes arrived. Unfortunately, the dreadful hoody his twin had fixated on was in this batch. Lucifer wanted to burn it. But he couldn’t, because the first thing Michael did upon seeing it was snatch it up gleefully with his good hand, drop the robe Lucifer had convinced him to use in the interim and attempt to wriggle into it, much like a human spawn who’d yet to learn about sleeves.

Sighing in defeat, Lucifer snatched the black trousers he’d insisted his brother pair it with—he had to have _something_ respectable on—a set of socks and the shoes that went with it. He helped his brother figure things out, then his twin veritably pranced off to find his reflection.

At least the atrocious thing was composed of slightly less ostentatious colors than anything actually worn in the 80s. It had an egg shell center pocket and upper torso, a mustard yellow right shoulder, a maroon left elbow and wrists, a robin’s egg right arm, and olive green lower torso and hood. What Michael saw it in, Lucifer couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Following his brother to the full length on his closet door, the resigned Devil watched his twin’s back straighten and his posture level out as he held his head high for the first time since his rescue. And all resentment was instantly insignificant. Michael turned, admiring his reflection in much the same way the urchin would when she put on what she considered an especially awesome outfit, and his good arm reached up to grab at the loose fabric. His fingers and thumb pinched it, the thumb languidly circling the material.

Lucifer had to admit. It looked soft. And cozy.

Nodding once, he turned to the task at hand: setting up the closet and explaining the importance of keeping outfits together. The dress had yet to arrive, but the accessories and the shoes came in this batch. As he worked, his brother kept strutting about like a proud peacock, admiring his reflection, and relishing in the feeling of it on his skin. Lucifer supposed it only made sense, considering how these were the first articles of clothing his brother ever possessed. A fond smile stole onto his lips. He could still remember the first time he had discovered—

“Sammy?” Michael was at his side again, appreciating his reflection for the hundredth time. Lucifer took a break from checking the arrangement of clothes, meticulously hung in sets.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I need all those other garments. I’m just going to wear this.”

At this comment, the Devil almost caught himself asking Dad for strength. Almost. Instead, he found his temples in his hand. 

***

Maze glared at Astaroth, still wearing Decker’s face. 

“I am so done with you and your bullshit!” She spat. Blood and mucus splattered at her feet. “If I’m the doppler, why haven’t I reverted back yet?”

Astaroth laughed coldly. “Oh, Mazikeen, dear. I know perfectly well what and who you are.” She followed this up with a calculated kick which Mazikeen easily blocked, catching her foot and twisting it into a corkscrew hold. 

“Bitch!” She snarled, but Astaroth managed to turn, breaking the hold before Maze could lock it. The end result was that both demons went down, rolling one over the other until Astaroth managed to pin her down, straddling from above.

Decker’s beautiful face laughed. “Exactly. I _am_ a bitch. And so are you.” She leaned in, as if going in for a kiss. Maze bit those full, inviting lips, and the taste of blood filled her mouth. Astaroth pulled back quickly. She brushed her hand up to her mouth and pulled it back to study the blood. She grinned as she licked it from her hand. “Perhaps you haven’t forgotten what it means to be a demon, after all?” Astaroth got up, offering a satisfied smirk.

Maze clambered up as well, glaring even harder. “I’ve forgotten nothing.”

Astaroth shrugged. “Do you think our Lord Lucifer figured it out yet? That his not-brother left with him instead of you?” She giggled.

“You’re a traitor.” Maze growled, her fist clenching in fury.

“That’s rich, coming from you.” 

“Shut up.”

Both demons glared at one another for a time. Then Astaroth brushed it off, tossed her hair and sauntered toward the door to the loop.

“Coming?” She offered sweetly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Why?” Maze itched for her blades. But the asshole changeling stole them. It took _everything_ from her. It should have been stopped. “Why did you let it walk out, Astaroth?” 

The demon in question turned to lean on the ruined wall. “Our king wanted to find his real twin. This was the fastest way to accomplish that.” She started picking at her nails, getting the blood and tissue out from when she had scratched Maze.

“And you’re not at all worried this will backfire?” she demanded incredulously. Astaroth had always been one of Lucifer’s most loyal, most reliable. And now this?

“It might, but our beloved king is not so fragile.” Then she rolled her eyes. “He’s about as smart as a thumb tack, but he’s not fragile. He’ll be fine.” Maze was about to point out that his being an idiot was exactly why she was worried, but then Astaroth continued. “Especially since he’s got this detective human as a consort.” She pointed at herself—at Decker. “This one’s smart. She can be his protector.”

Maze snorted. Decker could be the Devil’s protector? Yeah, right. She was the _cause_ of him being in danger all the time. But the more she thought about it, the less silly it seemed. And a new understanding started to set in: why Lucifer no longer seemed to care. It was because he replaced her. He didn’t need her anymore. 

“Yeah, well, those two tend to get in a lot of trouble together,” she countered, but even she knew it sounded weak. 

Astaroth nodded knowingly before shrugging. “Even so, he’s still in one piece. He doesn’t need you anymore, Mazikeen. He doesn’t need _any_ of us.” With that, she left the loop.

Maze stood there, unwilling to move. She was in Hell. She couldn’t be seen as weak. The others wouldn’t understand. By sheer force of will, she tamed the lump in her throat, and subdued the tears before they could escape.

When finally she stepped out, she saw the other demon waiting, no longer wearing Decker’s face, but still beautiful. Like Mazikeen, she had another face, but unlike her, even in Hell, she usually chose to wear the face she donned during her time on Earth. From before demons were banished to Hell. From when the humans worshipped her and called her Inanna.

Long blond locks and ice blue eyes, creamy skin and full lips turned to smile almost sympathetically at Maze. Astaroth was alone, save the dragon and snake she always kept close at hand.

“In spite of what you think, I do understand. The others don’t. They don’t know what it’s like up there, and let me tell you, ignorance is bliss.” She put her hand on Mazikeen’s shoulder. There was no malice. “I cried too when I first came back.”

Damn it. That bitch. Maze tried to fight her feelings. Feeling which Linda said made her strong, even as her knees grew weak, even though she knew that in Hell, crying made her a target. But the hurt overpowered her when she looked at Astaroth, and she realized the other demon really did understand.

“I won’t tell them if you don’t.” The would-be goddess of old promised, and Maze rolled her eyes.

“Good, cause if you do, I’ll kill you.” She laughed wetly as she rubbed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pete is the villain in 5a.
> 
> There. I said it.
> 
> Also, Michael has clothes! Happy moment!
> 
> Maze is feeling more abandoned than ever. 😭


	8. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan talking to Linda.  
> Chloe visits the twins.

Day four:

“So, yeah, I guess I’m finally starting to make sense of all of it,” Dan concluded. 

Dr. Martin sat in front of him, legs crossed, and notepad ready on the table between them. He had said he needed a session, and while this wasn’t typical—not by any stretch—it helped that it still felt that way. 

“Like, when Chlo just up and left? Taking Trix to Rome? That’s when she found out, right?”

Dr. Martin nodded. “She felt it would help to get away for awhile. Yes.”

Hmm. Not a bad idea, but Rome? Kinda felt like they’d be sorta biased against Lucifer. But then, who was he to judge? He _shot_ him, with intent to kill. “What about you? How did you take it?”

The doctor set down her pen and offered a smile as she leaned back. “A lot like you, actually. I shut down for a while and denied Lucifer access. It was Maze who pulled me out of it. She helped me remember that she and Lucifer are still the same people I already knew.”

“Wait, Maze is a demon!” He felt stupid as soon as he said it. Duh, of course she was. “Well, I mean, yeah, she’s _obviously_ a demon.” He laughed. Maze made a lot more sense as a demon. 

“Yes. Mazikeen is a demon, Lucifer is the angel cast out of Heaven to rule over Hell, Amenadiel is his oldest sibling, and Charlie is half angel, too.” She picked her notepad up again. “Do you want to discuss how this makes you feel?” 

Right, because sessions with Dr. Martin were about feelings. But he wasn’t sure how he felt. He had a lot of questions, though. “What about Michael? Is he really _that_ Michael? The archangel? He threw Lucifer out of Heaven, even though they’re twins? Was that just because their dad t—” Mierda, God was actually Lucifer’s Dad! More nervous laughing. Dan was still confused by all of this. “And... and... if Michael thinks lying, manipulating, and kidnapping are acceptable, why is he called a saint?”

Why did people call Lucifer the Prince of Lies?

“I don’t have a lot of information for you. Lucifer never really talks about his fall.” She paused to adjust her glasses, then she took a deep breath. “But I do know that the celestial family has a _lot_ of issues.” Her eyes grew wide as she said this, and Dan got the impression she had more to say, but then she pushed whatever she was thinking back and smiled patiently at him. “And when Michael first showed up, he pretended to be Lucifer.”

“Wait, what? But...” Chloe was in a relationship with Lucifer. “That’s messed up!” Dan felt sick. “Did Chloe and he, you know, while she thought he was...” Dan took a couple deep breaths to calm himself, but the utter and complete disregard for Chloe’s informed consent made him queasy. “How could an angel think that’s okay?”

“Angels, as I understand it, tend to base right and wrong on whether it’s God’s Will. They also assume He will punish anyone out of line, which makes them think they’re always in the right so long as nothing bad happens to them.”

Okay. That was terrifying. “But what about Amenadiel?” 

“Amenadiel has been on Earth long enough to know better. He didn’t start out very saintly, either. He _wanted_ to be good, though. And over time, as you can see, he’s figured it out.” The doctor smiled fondly. 

“So, what? We just need to give Michael a chance to figure this out, too?” Dan snatched the glass of water sitting on the table between them and took a desperate gulp, eager to get the dryness out of his throat. 

Linda’s eyes grew steely. “I doubt it. He likes to use the power of fear to manipulate and hurt people. And from what I understand, he isn’t even a real angel. I wouldn’t trust him.”

That all sounded awful. “But, why? How did the Bible—everything we know—or thought we knew—how did we get it so wrong?” Dan had a headache. This was supposed to help him learn to be okay with everything, but it was having the opposite effect.

Linda sighed. She got up and walked around the table to sit at his side. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I know. It’s hard to come to terms with the truth. But it is what it is. And one thing to remember as you process everything is that history is written by the winning side.”

Right. History was written by the winner. By Michael. The twin who won. It was so simple. 

It made Dan sick.

***

Lucifer was pacing.

He was—no—he was most assuredly _not_ nervous. Absolutely not. He was merely concerned about how the Detective would respond to Michael. He assured himself that she was aware of the situation, that this Michael was not the one she already met. Lucifer smoothed his hair and adjusted his suit. He needed a cigarette. He needed a drink.

He needed the Detective to like Michael.

And bloody Hell, there was an idea he never thought he’d have. But this... this Michael—no, the _real_ Michael was nothing like the person he used to call his twin... for... for almost all of existence. The Devil’s heart clenched. He called it ‘brother.’ And for a time, they’d been, well, _close,_ and for a longer time—if the good Doctor was correct—a part of him craved acceptance from it. The creature was responsible for so much pain, but they’d been br... 

Lucifer stopped in his tracks. He closed his eyes, and banished the thoughts before they could go any further. Taking a breath, he extracted a cigarette and a lighter from his inner pocket, but his fingers were shaking, and the blasted thing refused to light. That vile changeling was *not* family. It hurt him. It caused discord in Heaven. It _abducted_ Michael when he was still new, then it imprisoned him in a place where all he had was it. And then it showed up on Earth, dragging the Detective into the heart of an eons old feud.

There was no forgiving that.

No matter what. 

But that was all over with. It was in Hell, and Lucifer was free to hate it all he liked. He had his real twin back, anyway. Speaking of, where was he? Pulling himself from his thoughts, he ceased his pacing to look around. He didn’t have to try hard to find him. 

Michael was laying on the couch with that same blanket he had grown so attached to. He curled in on his side and ran his thumb back and forth over the soft fuzz. A decorative pillow was in his other arm. His brother's eyes were closed, and Lucifer assumed he was dozing. He started to ease back as quietly as possible to let him be.

“Something bad happened last night,” Michael suddenly lamented softly, catching Lucifer off guard.

The Devil stopped in his tracks as Michael pulled the blanket up over his head so only a tuft of curly hair stuck out.

“What do you mean?” He stepped toward his distressed twin, trying to piece together what bad thing he could be talking about. A nightmare? A memory? A hallucination, perhaps. Extended sensory deprivation and isolation could do that.

“I felt a sudden spike of fear. It got worse and worse, then it vanished all at once.” The lump under the blanket shuddered. “I’ve never felt so much fear.” Lucifer registered a muffled sniff.

Oh, dear. Lucifer was surprised Michael could sense something from all the way up in the Penthouse... but then, perhaps intense fear carried farther.

“What kind of fear, Mi-Mi?” He sat in the small space available on the couch where his brother curled in, and put a hand on what was probably a shoulder. 

There was no reply at first. Only a tremor. “I don’t know. A fear of pain? Of ending? Of... of never seeing loved ones again?”

A fear of death. 

His brother still didn’t know about death. Lucifer swallowed hard. 

“Sam?” The blanket lowered, and two distraught eyes locked onto him. “Where did the fear go? Why did it just disappear like that?” He sniffed, and great big crocodile tears welled up.

“I... ah...” Lucifer sighed heavily. He was pretty sure the reason the fear vanished was because the individual expired. “Well, the soul... ah... likely left this plane of existence, which took it further than you could sense,” he offered, not untruthfully.

“Oh,” Michael disappeared under the blanket again. Lucifer sat with him for a couple minutes, but when his brother offered nothing more, he assumed his twin wanted to be left alone, so he stood and started for the bar, but then Michael started up again.

“Dad told me about my gift.” 

Lucifer’s thoughts about mortality—and how was he to explain that?—derailed. He turned toward his brother, curiosity and concern warring in his head. 

“Oh?”

“A long time ago.” He took a wavering breath from under the blanket before pushing it off and sitting up.

“Did He, now?” Lucifer stepped toward him. He really wondered what sorry justification Dear Old Dad had for giving his brother the ‘gift’ of fear.

“Fear is powerful,” Michael nearly whispered, eyes closing tight. “And when people don’t know what they fear, it eats at them. But understanding it can give one the strength to face it head on. To rise above it.”

Lucifer scoffed, “So Dad’s excuse was to make people brave? How the bloody Hell is that supposed to work when their fears are actually more than they can deal with?” Leave it to Dad to come up was a solution as ineffective as that. He shook his head indignantly, and almost as if he heard the shake, Michael opened his eyes. Tears slowly spilled out, trailing down his face.

“Well, there’s more.” He sunk into himself, hugging the pillow to his chest. “I was to be the defender. I was supposed to protect others when their fears were too much.” He sniffed. “But look at me, I’m a disgrace. A failure.” His eyes closed again, and Lucifer took an involuntary step toward him.

“No, Mi-Mi, you are not—”

“It’s okay, Sammy, you don’t have to twist the truth to make me feel better. I know, and I understand why you’re keeping me away from our family.”

Twist the—? What? No! Lucifer felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “That’s not what I’m doing, I would never!” How was he supposed to explain? Michael was not the failure. How was he supposed to explain how the family had come apart? About Mum? His fall?

“I see. So it’s their choice to stay away.” Michael took a ragged breath and his face buried itself back into the blanket. “Thank you for staying with me, even if I’m unworthy.”

Unworthy.

That’s the word the wretched changeling had used on Lucifer. Un-bloody-worthy. It stung to hear his abused brother use that word on himself.

“Did that filthy maggot tell you that?” His voice was nearly a growl, and Michael looked at him in alarm.

“Yes, but it’s the tru—”

“Nothing that creature said was the truth. All it did was lie and—”

His words were cut off by the merry ding of the elevator, and Lucifer whirled around in time to see the Detective stepping into the Penthouse with a smile directed his way briefly before her eyes landed on his brother, and she froze.

Michael froze as well, likely reacting to her fear. It occurred to Lucifer that this was the first time since before the creation of the mortal plane that his brother had been in the same room with more than one person, and considering who/what his captor had been, he probably had an overactive sense of stranger danger.

The Detective was the first to snap out of it when her eyes landed on the preposterous hoody his twin _still_ wore, then up to his messy hair, and finally to his worried eyes. And she smiled, as her hand went to her mouth to conceal a slight chuckle, her eyes darting to Lucifer with mirth.

“Hi.” She waved passively as she took a step closer. 

Lucifer relaxed. The Detective understood. Of course she did. “Hello to you, too, Detective.”

Chloe’s eyes darted back to Michael, but when he tensed up, she quickly returned her focus to Lucifer. 

“So, um... He doesn’t know English, right?”

Lucifer nodded, taking an involuntary step toward her. It had been four days since he was able to lay eyes on her, and he wanted to drink in every inch of her. He wanted to feel her in his arms, and taste her on his—Chloe coughed expectantly. Ah, right, she had a question for him.

“English? No. Only Enochian.” He glanced at his brother. Michael sat straight, eyeing their interaction with cautious curiosity.

“Can you tell him I said it’s nice to meet him?” She was fidgeting with her hands.

Lucifer relayed the message.

“Is it?” his brother wondered. 

“No, it’s a greeting, you’re supposed to say it’s nice to meet her, too,” Lucifer tried to explain.

“So it isn’t nice to meet me.” He pulled the blanket up again, and his shoulders sagged.

Bloody Hell.

It took a while, but finally he got his upset twin to understand. Then, after he convinced him the Detective was not a doppelgänger, he instructed him in the fine art of handshaking, and the rest of the visit proceeded as expected. 

Lucifer and Chloe moved to sit side by side on the piano bench, her shoulder against his arm, and his fingers lazily plucking out a tune, while his twin lounged, blanket and pillow firmly in his grasp. The distance put him at ease, but Lucifer was mildly annoyed that he no longer seemed to possess a couch. Because now, obviously, it was Michael’s. Chloe asked Lucifer how he and his brother were doing, and Lucifer, in turn, asked about her day.

“I got a new case this morning.”

Lucifer perked up. “Ooh, delightful! Do tell! Who’s the recently departed?” He missed working cases with her. 

The detective rolled her eyes. “So nice to see your compassion showing through,” she drawled sarcastically.

He paused in his playing to look at her with a tilt of his head. “What need is there for compassion? The poor sod is either in the Silver City, enjoying the fruits of paradise, or suffering in a Hell loop of their own devising.”

The Detective shook her head. “Right. And everyone who ends up in Hell deserves it?” Lucifer had nothing to say to that, so he took a sip of the scotch he had sitting on the piano and started playing again. Opting not to answer.

“She was an image consultant. She actually died last night, only a few blocks from here.”

Lucifer’s fingers seized and the music stopped abruptly with a discordant clang. Michael stiffened, whether from the sound or Lucifer’s obvious alarm, he didn’t know. 

The Detective’s eyebrows shot up. “What did I say?”

Lucifer turned to his twin. Switching to Enochian, he debated how best to phrase his question. “Mi-Mi? The bad thing last night, around what time did it happen?”

His brother frowned and curled in again. “Right after you fell asleep.” 

Chloe kept looking back and forth between the conversing angels as they talked. It took a bit, as Michael was uncomfortable discussing it, but eventually he described a feeling of betrayal. The victim knew the murderer. And a fear of something sharp and about six inches long, of it flying through the air... a knife was knocked aside in the scuffle, may still be around. And a final intense fear of being bashed in the head, it was the head injury that killed her. When at last he addressed the Detective again, her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open.

“That... that might actually help.” She took a breath, then another. “Wow.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Wow. Um... tell him I said thank you?” 

Lucifer did so, with a quick explanation of the Detective’s job, and Michael lit up

“She will make sure the one responsible for the fear is held accountable?” He uncurled from the couch, and his brow furrowed. “And I helped,” he added dubiously.

“Yes, Mi-Mi. You helped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, how do we think the session with Linda went?
> 
> And poor Michael, can you imagine knowing everyone's fears, can you imagine internalizing it? 
> 
> But, yay, he helped.
> 
> Luuuucifeeeerrrrrr! Stop avoiding the tough subjects!!!


	9. Liaise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Language practice, and a coping Ella.
> 
> Visitors and flashbacks.
> 
> Enjoy.

Day five: 

“Zee Dee-Tek-Eff,” Michael tried. 

This new way of speaking was strange. But so was everything else, and his growing understanding of how inept he truly was disheartened him. Samael was taking far more time off from his divine tasks on Michael’s behalf than he probably should, and Michael knew it couldn’t possibly last.

How long would Mom and Dad continue to be so permissive of his failure? Samael—Now Lucifer, the Lightbringer—was the best and brightest of them all. He had better things to do than squander his precious time on Michael. On a failure.

_“You can’t do anything right, can you?” The creature wearing his face kicked him in his side, a handful of feathers in one hand and a tool for hair cutting in the other. “Looking pretty is all you’re good for, and even in this, you fall short. The least you could do is leave our feathers where they belong!” Another kick. “And sit still so I can get this over with.”_

“The Detective,” Lucifer corrected, pulling him back to the present.

Michael’s eyes darted over to Amenadiel, again. Their oldest brother had a strange look on his face. It didn’t fit. The ‘Fist of God’ was a dark, brooding, imposing presence. Michael remembered that. And he remembered how Amenadiel was meant to be the enforcer. But the expression he wore now, it was—Michael wasn’t sure what. It didn’t fit, and that worried him.

When he indicated earlier to Samae— _Lucifer_ that he missed their family, it never occurred to him that _Amenadiel_ would be the sibling his twin would choose to invite. A shiver crawled up his spine. He tried to hide it. He didn’t want to appear fearful in front of Dad’s enforcer. He didn’t want to be punished for his weakness. 

Michael focused on the fabric of his _hoodee_ and looked away. He petted the arm and closed his eyes. It was soft and warm. 

“It’s okay, brother, if it’s difficult at first. Learning a new language isn’t easy,” Amenadiel’s voice was soft. It confused Michael. Nothing about his oldest brother was meant to be soft. It was probably a trick. Amenadiel was aiming to establish a false sense of security in Michael first, so the punishment would hurt more. Yes. That made sense.

“Well, for most people, perhaps,” his twin remarked.

“I don’t think bragging about your language skills is helping, Luci.” Amenadiel’s tone hardened, but his words caught Michael’s attention. He opened his eyes again, eyeing the Lightbringer curiously.

“Luci?” he tested, frowning at how odd it felt on his lips.

Lucifer cringed. “Bloody Hell, did you have to call me _that_ in front of him?” 

A light hand touched Michael’s wrist, and he looked to his left to see the subject of his lesson smiling encouragingly at him. The mortal seemed kind. Michael liked her.

Very carefully showing him how to place his tongue, she enunciated the strange sequence of sounds again. “Th-uh, The. Dee-tec-tiv, Detective.” She nodded at him.

Michael concentrated. He really wanted to prove he could do this. After trying out the sounds silently a few times, he ventured another attempt. “Zee De-Tec-tif.”

The way she smiled, he felt a welling of confidence. Was that right?

 _“The,_ Mi-Mi, but close.” Lucifer nodded, then he took a sip of his not-water. “I’d no idea I would be spending the evening like this,” He grinned, glanced at his mortal friend, and waggled his eyebrows. Then he said something to her with the strange sounds, and for some reason, her gaze shot upwards so violently only the whites of her eyes showed for a moment, even as her cheeks flushed with a peculiar red hue. 

The three continued to chat with the new sounds, and Michael, unable to understand any of it, focused more on getting the sounds right. After a bit, he tried again. 

“The Detective!”

All three grew quiet and turned to look his way. Michael stiffened, but then his twin clapped his hands, a delighted expression lighting his entire face up. “Yes! Perfect!” He praised, and Michael caught himself grinning. “Almost makes up for my missed date night,” his twin added confusingly, before turning to Amenadiel, “Though, I suppose that’d be your fault, brother. I should’ve known better than to call _you_ for angel-sitting duty.”

Michael furrowed his brow as the two proceeded to argue with the strange sounds. Some things, he decided, would just have to remain a mystery. But at least Sammy was pleased with him, and that was worth all the confusion.

***

Ella watched the dancers longingly. They looked free. And happy. Patrick slid another margarita her way. It was only her second, but the night was young.

The vibrations of the music thrummed through her, beckoning her to the dance floor with its alluring pull, but as she stepped forward, fear spiked in her chest. What if someone approached her? 

Maybe coming here was a mistake. 

She wasn’t ready. She should’ve brought a friend. Ella eased back onto her seat and took another sip. A friend would be nice. Maze wasn’t answering her calls, though. Linda was acting weird, something about having to keep an extra close eye on Charlie. Chloe might be available. Ella retrieved her phone, but as she was about to dial Decker’s number, several eyes turned toward the stairs, catching her interest.

Speak of the Devil. 

Ella giggled at her mental joke as she watched Chloe and Lucifer making their way down the stairs, hand in hand and giving one another goo goo eyes, completely oblivious to the longing and jealous stares of the club goers. 

Ella’s laugh ended in a grin. Those two idiots were perfect together. It boggled her mind that it took them this long to figure it out. Ella was the original Deckerstar shipper, after all. Even when she’d been rooting for beautiful blue eyed Pecker babies, it was only because she thought the Deckerstar ship had crashed and burned. But nope. They worked it out—whatever it was—and they were happy. Finally.

Ella sighed, deciding to live vicariously through them, seeing as she was pretty sure she would be single for the rest of her life. She snatched up her drink and made her way through the moving bodies to greet them at the bottom of the stairs.

As they reached the last step, she came forward, extending her arms to indicate her intent to hug. “Lucifer! Chloe! Fancy meeting you here!”

Lucifer tensed momentarily before relaxing into a rueful smirk. That counted as permission. She threw herself at him.

“Ella! Hey!” Chloe pulled back, extracting her hand so Lucifer could return the embrace in his classic stiff, secretly appreciative, patented Lucifer way. Ella had a cat like him as a kid. She snickered at the mental image of a Devil cat. It fit.

“Hello, Miss Lopez,” the club owner greeted warmly as she squeezed. “It is indeed a fortuitous happenstance that we should meet.”

Fortuitous? Uh-oh. Lucifer wanted something. She was about to point out that she was not investigating any more creepy not-graves for him when Chloe stepped up to embrace her.

“You doing okay?” the detective asked as she pulled back, an understanding smile turning the corners of her lips up.

“I would offer you a drink, but it appears Patrick’s already seen to it,” Lucifer drawled.

“Y... yeah, I’m great! Got my drink, got time off tomorrow, no curfew. Time to live it up! I’m totally fine! Better than fine! Great! Yep. So good here—” Ella stopped when the concerned look on Lucifer’s face cued her in to the fact that she was rambling. 

“Would you like me to educate that maggot on your behalf?” There was no malice in his tone, but the way he said, ‘educate’ reminded Ella of old mafia flicks.

She laughed nervously. She imagined him calling in a favor. Or doing whatever he did (or didn’t do) to turn people into babbling hysterical mental patients for the rest of their lives. Or maybe he could do to Pete what he did to Julian.

And.. She _wanted_ it.

 _Darkness._ Pete’s voice taunted her.

“Lucifer, no, let the justice system deal with him,” Chloe implored. 

“I rather think that’s up to Miss Lopez,” he retorted acidly.

Ella blinked. “No, no, I’m good.” _Make him suffer!_ “Chloe’s right.” She wished she wasn’t. “I don’t need you going after him.” She wanted to fidgeted with her hands, but the margarita was still in her grasp, so she opted to chug it instead. When next she looked at her friends, Lucifer was smiling at her like... like he was _proud_ of her.

“As you’ve clearly demonstrated when you bested the tosser, you don’t need my help. But it’s available to you, nonetheless.” 

An awkward silence fell over them as Ella processed his words. And his meaning. All this time, she’d been freaking out about how easy it was for her to hurt someone, completely missing the fact that, yeah, she was assaulted by a serial killer, and took him out. It was kinda impressive, actually. She was a badass! 

Ella smiled. “Ah, thanks, bud. You’re the best!” Then she threw her arms around him a second time.

Lucifer patted her back rigidly before extracting himself. He cleared his throat and adjusted his suit. “Ah... yes... ah, right....” Ella set her empty glass down as she watched his eyes roam about, in classic ‘Lucifer needs a favor and doesn’t know how to ask’ fashion.

“Sooooo, it’s fortuitous that I’m here? What do you need, big guy?”

Chloe glanced between the two, and a smile lit her face. “Oh, Lucifer, do you think—?”

He nodded. “I do.” Then he turned to Ella. “I have a twin brother. He’s been through an ordeal recently, and I can’t leave him alone while he’s recovering.”

What? A twin? Lucifer kept talking.

“Sadly, my not-so-little Devil’s been itching for an opportunity to—how shall I say—be permitted entry through the Detective’s pearly gates—”

Chloe elbowed him. “Ew! Lucifer, gross!”

Unbothered, he kept going. “and I tried to have Amenadiel watch him so I might sweep the detective off her feet and lavish her with adoration, but that feathered arse is useless.”

Lucifer had a twin brother? And he never told her? What the heck?

“But it occurs to me that you would be perfect for this.”

He literally had a case about twins right before he left! How did he not make that case about him and his twin??? He made _every_ case about him!

“So what do you say, Miss Lopez? Would you like to angel-sit for me tomorrow?”

Ella took off her shoe and hit him. 

Lucifer pulled back in shock. “Ow!” 

“You pendejo! You have a twin, and you never told me?” She hit him again. He recoiled and brought his hands up defensively.

Chloe laughed. “Yeah. He never told me, either.”

“It never came up!” he defended.

As far as lame excuses went, that one took the cake, but whatever. She could use the distraction. And her curiosity was already starting to eat at her.

“Sure it didn’t.” Ella rolled her eyes as she slipped into her shoe again. “But yeah,” she shrugged, “I’d be happy to ‘angel-sit’ for you.”

***

“Pillo, banket, cowch, the detective, starz, hoodee, wader, gud, yes, no.” If he kept reciting these, he could remember them. Michael took a breath and started again, “Pillo, banket, cow—”

Michael’s words caught in his throat as Amenadiel approached and sat on the _cowch_ next to him. He wore that suspiciously friendly expression again. Michael stiffened, grabbing the _banket_ and pulling it close as he scooted back, his eyes darting about, hoping to see his twin, but Sammy was still gone. He and the Detective had stepped into the disappearing room behind the magic doors. He insisted he would be right back, but being alone with their eldest brother put Michael on edge.

“You needn’t fear me, brother.” Amenadiel lied, offering a deceptively gentle smile.

“I don’t,” he quietly lied back. 

The enforcer chose to disregard the fib. He leaned back on the other end of the _cowch,_ giving him space. “I wanted to apologize.”

Wrong. 

This whole situation was wrong. Amenadiel would never apologize to anyone. Least of all, him. He watched the magic doors, hoping they would open, and Samael would be back.

“Back then, I guess we should have listened to you,” Amenadiel continued. “We all—no, _I_ just assumed you were being cowardly. I assumed that if you faced your fears on your own, you would realize how silly they were.” Michael turned to look at him again, and Amenadiel met his eyes. “None of us knew what was out there, beyond creation. You should never have gone alone.”

Alone.

He had been alone.

Michael shook as the memory bombarded him. He closed his eyes, willing it to stay away, but his mind betrayed him. Amenadiel continued to talk, but his voice faded from Michael’s awareness. He heard Father’s Command to go beyond creation. He saw the beasts he fought, he felt the chill of the space beyond reality in his bones.

_Three entrances sealed, Michael was starting to think the others may have been right. He was an archangel, while the foes he faced were mere remnants from other, possibly long gone creations, strays who left their existence to prey on others, and mistakes which had been cast aside. No matter how fierce, how powerful or massive, none were a match for him._

_Dad had said Michael may bring backup if he chose, but Samael was busy, and Michael knew the others would not understand. They would laugh at him; call him weak. So he went alone. Michael took a reassuring breath. He could do this._

_This new place between realities was remarkable only for its emptiness. There was nothing there, only bitter coldness, an absence of light or shadow, and wait—was that fear?_

_A soft tremor of fear rippled through the void. Someone was in there. Someone was afraid. Dad told him he was meant to protect. Did that apply to beings from other creations? The archangel glanced toward the exit, deliberating, but the fear tugged at him until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Cautiously watching for threats, he flew toward the feeling._

_It didn’t take long to find the source, or to discover that it was afraid it would be trapped forever in the nothingness. Alone and forgotten._

_“Be not afraid,” Michael recited as he approached, and a vast expanse of floor manifested the moment he wished to land. Michael wondered at that, but this was a question for another time. The strange wingless creature stared at him with eyes that seemed too big on a face that seemed too pale, and too thin. It looked hungrily at him, but Michael understood. All this time with nothing, and suddenly someone was there._

_It stood on trembling legs and moved toward him on uncertain feet, and Michael, feeling overcome with sympathy as it struggled, closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms and wings around it. The creature clung to him and shook. Michael felt the fear fading as it pulled back to look at him, taking his cheeks in its hands to stare disbelievingly into his eyes._

_The archangel allowed it this exploration. He imagined being found was a bit overwhelming, but it’s ordeal was over now, because Michael would take it back with—_

_Michael blinked in confusion. He lost track of his thoughts. What? Oh, right, the creature. It no longer needed to be afraid. It looked at him, and... a wave of disorientation hit, and he stumbled, but the creature caught him._

_What was happening? Something was wrong. He tried to pull away from the thing staring into his eyes, but his strength was failing him and... where was he? What was—?_

_A shock of pain hit, unlike anything he could imagine. Then darkness took him._

_The next thing he knew, he was being cradled by strong arms. He opened his eyes to see... himself? What? He was being held by himself? The disoriented archangel blinked. Then the creature wearing his face spoke._

_“Thank you angel, for saving me. We are one now. I know your fears.” It smiled kindly at him. “Be not afraid. I will keep you safe.”_

Safe? It was a lie. He was not safe, he was... it was cold, no one was coming... he was alone, forgotten...

A hand fell on his good shoulder. A jolt of fear which wasn’t his hit, and the present crashed in around him.

He heard a familiar voice. Begging.

“Mi-Mi? Michael? Please, brother? Mi-Mi, please...”

Michael opened his eyes, but his vision blurred and he was confused. Where was he? His heart thundered in his chest, and his insides hurt. But gradually, his brain started functioning properly again.

Concentrating on his breath, he willed himself to calm down, even though his shame made him want to vanish. 

As his eyes focused, he realized Amenadiel wasn’t talking anymore. A look of alarmed concern painted his features. Samael was there as well. It was his hand on Michael’s shoulder, and his voice trying to pull him back. His twin glared at Amenadiel with fiery eyes.

“What did you say to him?” he demanded.

Amenadiel puffed up with indignation. “I was apologizing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a bit of a slow burn, but it will be picking up pace very soon. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> Angel-sitting next chapter, then... well, things start to go wrong. 😈


	10. Unresolved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... remember how this fic started by veering off cannon midway through season 5, episode 8? Well, as a result, some of “Michael’s” schemes were left unresolved. 
> 
> Chloe still wants to know if Lucifer loves her.
> 
> Amenadiel just finally realized about Charlie.
> 
> Also... where’s Maze? Aaand, a little angel-sitting.
> 
> Enjoy!

Day six:

Lucifer was lost in Chloe. Her hair in his hand, her body pressed against his, her hips gyrating with want for him, her lips sucking on his, and her heavy, needy breaths mixing with his. Bloody Hell, the elevator ride was too short. 

Between his thoughts ricocheting between their little chat on the beach and his current desires, there wasn’t nearly enough time. As he eagerly slid his hand under her shirt, their conversation from earlier continued to echo in his head.

_“Complicated? I see.” The Detective worried her hands together as they walked, her distraught eyes cast downward. “It’s okay, I understand.” She blinked back tears._

_“I...” Lucifer faltered, his steps stalling in the sand. He took a deep breath to steady himself as he turned his attention to the ocean in the evening light, watching the tide ebb and flow at the behest of the moon’s gravitational serenade. This wasn’t how their date was meant to go. “Detective?” She looked away as she came to a stop at his side, sniffing and dabbing her eyes, “Chloe,” he tried again, and her sorrowful gaze met him. “Please.”_

_“I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed twice. “I’m not trying to make you say anything you’re not ready for. I understand.” A tear escaped and fell to the wet sand._

_“Please, wait, I, I, I—”_

_“No, Lucifer, It’s okay, I never sh—”_

_“It’s not that!” he exclaimed desperately, and she fell silent, some part of her still hoping he could fix this, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what to say. “It's... it’s complicated.” Chloe choked back a sob, that word like a knife in her heart. No, no, this was wrong, he had to explain. Speaking quickly and blinking back the dampness in his eyes, he plowed ahead, afraid that if he stopped to think, he would run instead._

_“You made me feel vulnerable, because you could hurt me. But now, I—it’s different. I know you never will. And... and I can’t help myself, I’m powerless against you, but when I think about how you chose me, in spite of everything—everything I am, everything I’ve done, how you still accept me—nothing makes me feel more powerful. It doesn’t make any bloody sense! It’s complicated. Love is bloody complicated!”_

_Finished with his tirade, the Devil sank heavily into the sand, feeling utterly defeated. He’d ruined everything. Again. But then he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and when he glanced up, he saw the Detective looking at him with wonder, the sunlight behind her casting a soft otherworldly glow around her. A smile slowly crept up her face as she sat at his side, taking his hand._

_“Lucifer?” Her fingers laced through his. “Did you just say—?”_

_And that’s when it hit him. His words. His confession. His first instinct was to panic, but the Detective’s free hand found his cheek, her cool fingers soothing and hopeful as they stroked his stubble. All distress melted away into disbelieving elation as his heart fluttered and a cautious smile took shape on his lips._

_“I... did... didn’t I?”_

_She nodded, tears falling from both eyes as she laughed wetly. “Yes.”_

_Dazed, Lucifer brought his free hand to her cool cheek. Their eyes met. “Detective.” Her breath caught. “Chloe.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s because of you. All of it. Because I... I love you, and I have for a long time.”_

_The words were scarcely uttered when their lips locked. The heated kiss quickly turned to more, and he found his Detective quite insatiable; those three little words like a wrecking ball on the dam holding back her desire._

Love was a marvelous thing. It made everything more... well, _more._ Once on the beach and again in the car was not nearly enough to fully explore the freedom he felt at having finally realized this.

“Lucifer,” Chloe moaned against him as the elevator assented and he reached for her bra clasp. 

“Mmmmm?” He trailed eager kisses down her neck, but she pulled away. 

“We need to stop. Ella and Michael—” a low throaty moan ripped through her as he slid his hand down to her delectable hindquarters.

“Yes, Miss Lopez was a much better choice for angel-sitting,” he agreed with a squeeze before returning to his explorations.

The elevator stopped, and the merciless doors slid open. Lucifer reached to close them, but the Detective moved back, stepping out and fretting with the mess he’d made. Grinning at the disheveled sight of her, knowing he sported a similar look, he followed. Miss Lopez wouldn’t mind.

And Michael likely didn’t even know about shagging. They could sneak off to the shower, his painfully innocent twin none the wiser. 

Shamelessly, he stalked forward, but the Detective shot him a warning look. Lucifer exhaled dramatically. As much of a turn on as it was when she looked at him like that, he knew what it meant.

“Where are they?” She looked around, turning as she spoke. Lucifer did as well. They were nowhere in sight... which was bloody brilliant, because now they could—

“Ella?” 

The Detective was such a spoilsport sometimes.

At the sound of her voice, the cheery scientist popped into existence, nearly vibrating. Her eyes locked on Lucifer, and, well, there went his erection. He knew that look.

Miss Lopez launched herself at him, trapping him in a fierce hug. Lucifer sighed. He had no idea telling her to resist hugging his easily overstimulated brother too much would result in her deciding that he was an acceptable substitute, but here they were.

Ella squealed like a teenage girl at a boy band concert. “OMGoodness, I’m so proud of him!” she elated. “You have nothing to worry about, I’m positive he’ll make a full recovery and regain his speech in no time.” Bloody Hell. Lucifer freed an arm to rub his temples while his friend rambled. “Like, I mean, just today, he figured out sooooo many words! So many!”

She pulled back, still bouncing on her heels and Lucifer groaned. No matter how many times he insisted that his brother had been abducted by a changeling, the oblivious scientist insisted on believing he had survived a nasty car crash, complete with head trauma, as evidenced by his inability to speak English and the scar on his face.

“And he’s just so cute! Like, seriously, why didn’t you tell me you had a twin?” Her voice dipped with mild irritation and she hit him in the arm, but at least she kept her shoe on this time. He huffed in response. They’d already been over this. For a fleeting moment, it was quiet, then she was at it again.

“So... Turns out Mi-Mi likes colors.” She grinned at him as she stepped back. “That nickname, by the way, it just kills me—” She brought both hands to her chest and melted for an instant before reanimating, only to snatch Lucifer’s hand and lead the resigned Devil toward his brother’s room. “—so we worked on that!” 

The Detective followed. “Naming colors? That’s nice,” she remarked. They entered the room and Lucifer froze, his jaw dropping without his volition.

No. It was not nice. 

Michael sat on the bed, feet upfront and hands held forward as he admired the colors on his... “Bloody Hell, what’ve you done to him?” Lucifer blurted. Michael glanced up and grinned at him, proceeding to show off the rainbow array on his nails.

“Matching mani pedis!” Miss Lopez bounced in place, flashing her own hands his way, and grinning like a fool. “Check it out!”

Chloe came up to Lucifer’s side, and after one look at the garish colors, she giggled. “That’s awesome, Ella.”

“Awesome? What about this is awesome?” Here Lucifer was trying to teach his brother about fashion, about appropriate color combinations, and now—

“Red!” Michael declared, pointing at his red painted thumb nail. 

“See?” Miss Lopez’s grin spread. 

And, bloody Hell, now the Detective was thrilled, too. And it only got worse as he accurately named all the other colors on his nails. Orange, Yellow, light blue, lavender, pink, brown, black, white, green, navy blue, purple, teal, salmon, silver, gold, cream, lime, maroon, indigo. It was, beyond a doubt, the most dreadful color combination of all time!

And the worst part? Lucifer made it possible. In his endeavor to accommodate his guests, and for his own personal reasons, he kept a fully stocked array of cosmetics, which naturally included every color of nail polish imaginable. 

And of course his brother found the collection.

And of course Miss Lopez had to show him how to use the polish.

While the womenfolk gushed over his twin’s supposed progress, Lucifer found his way to the bar to pour a drink.

***

Amenadiel was worried about Charlie. The ‘just a cold’ passed, but not his unease over the implications. He was slow to figure it out, but, with dawning dread, the truth edged in. 

Immortal angels didn’t get sick. He had impregnated Linda because at the time, he had essentially been human. As a human, he coupled with another human. Which made Charlie human.

Mortal.

Glancing down at his son in the stroller, a sad smile took hold. Remiel confirmed that there was, indeed _something_ special about him, or else there _could_ have been, had she taken the child to the Silver City. She had insisted that, on Earth, he would lose everything ‘special’ about him.

Charlie slept. His soft lashes brushed against his cheeks and his lips, having dropped the binky some time back, were pursed into the position of an adorable baby kissy face. No matter what he was, Amenadiel knew he was special. More than special. Miraculous. Perfect. But...

He would grow old and die.

Amenadiel paused in his walk to take a stuttering breath. He blinked back tears. It was unbecoming for him to fall apart over something like this. What did it matter? So what if he died? He would surely go to Heaven, and Amenadiel could be with him and Linda there. Forever. It would be fine.

But what if he ended up in Hell?

Amenadiel started walking again, trying not to think about all the ways a good person could land in Hell. Misplaced guilt over something happening to a loved one? Survivor’s guilt? Guilt over not doing enough? The guilt victims of violent crimes often felt? Guilt when somebody one loved hurt them? For the first time in his long life, the first of God’s angels felt rage toward the lack of justice in his Father’s automated system. 

It wasn’t fair.

As his mind turned circles over this revelation, he found himself back at the driveway leading back to the house. Linda was back from her day at work, as evidenced by her car parked neatly in front of the garage they used for everything but parking cars in. 

As he turned onto the driveway, a raven cawed from the tree in the front yard, catching his eye. Amenadiel paused as he met its eyes. There was something suspiciously familiar about the bird. It watched him for a moment before returning its attention to the house, and the angel shrugged the encounter aside. Sighing, he pushed the stroller up, opened the door, and came in, working to organize his thoughts for Linda as he entered the house.

Linda could help.

She always knew what to say and do. Carefully, he nestled the stroller up to the wall and set dangling toys in front. It was already in the reclining position, so Charlie was safe and cozy. He watched his son sleep for a moment before making his way to the kitchen, where Linda was putting groceries away. He expected to be greeted by the serene smile of a proud mom and successful therapist, but instead, he was greeted by a distraught, disheveled woman.

“Where’s Charlie?” She demanded when she saw that their son was not in Amenadiel’s arms.

Confused, the angel pointed, and she rushed over. “He’s sleeping,” Amenadiel tried to reassure.

“We can’t let him out of our sight. Not for a minute,” she exclaimed as she reached his side and proceeded to bring the stroller into the kitchen.

“What? Why?” Amenadiel was confused. Was this because of the incident at the Mayan again?

“Lucifer told me about Michael. He told me about changelings, and what they do to babies.” 

Oh.

Oh, dear. So that’s why she’d been so... overprotective since he got back. He was glad she finally brought this up, though, because now he could reassure her. “You don’t need to worry about that. The fake Michael is locked up in Hell, and changelings are extremely rare. Charlie is safe.” There. That should fix that.

Linda shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Was Maze ever alone with it?”

What? Amenadiel had to think for a bit. But then he remembered the demons right before he left saying that Mazikeen had a private session with the creature and it finally spilled the beans. This was when he had been informed that both Lucifer and Maze had already left Hell. Without even telling him. 

“Yeah, I think she... uh... you know, got it to talk.” He didn’t want to say she tortured the truth out of it, but he was pretty sure Linda could figure that out on her own.

Linda started pacing. She fidgeted with her glasses and smoothed her dress, but it did nothing to calm her down. “I think it imprinted on her.”

Amenadiel laughed. Maze was not easy prey— but then... His laugh cut off abruptly. Neither was an archangel. Could it be?

“She came here a day after she returned from Hell, acting strangely. Then she vanished again. Without a trace. That isn’t suspicious to you?” she snapped.

No, that was suspicious, and Amenadiel mentally kicked himself for failing to notice the demon’s disappearance. But... “She leaves all the time. It could be a bounty, or she’s just mad at Lucifer.” It wasn’t uncommon for her to drop off the map.

“Right,” Linda took a steadying breath. “She’s probably fine. I’m jumping to conclusions.” Another breath. She didn’t look convinced.

Amenadiel didn’t feel convinced, either. “How about this? I’ll look around for her, see if I can find out what she’s up to.”

Linda nodded. It was fine, Amenadiel reassured himself. Even if he had no way to know what he could do to confirm Maze was actually Maze when—if?—he _did_ find her. 

***

“Sam? I mean, Lucifer?” 

Michael was watching him hopefully from the couch. Lucifer sighed as he turned to face his silly twin. 

“Are you angry with me?” Michael looked at his nails, frowning. The Detective and Miss Lopez left a half hour back, and an uncomfortable silence settled in the instant their absence was felt. Michael’s excitement quickly turned to apprehension when he saw Lucifer’s sour mood, and he drew into himself.

Lucifer was annoyed with Miss Lopez, not mad at his brother, who legitimately didn’t know any better. But his twin didn’t understand. He tried to tell himself the nails were no big deal. Had it been anyone else, he would’ve encouraged their pursuing what made them happy. 

Michael’s hopeful eyes fell at Lucifer’s silence. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you would be pleased.” His voice was soft.

A lump formed in the Devil’s throat. His brother shouldn’t be worrying about pleasing him. Or anyone. “You did nothing wrong. I’m simply annoyed because I find the color combination...” Lucifer took a sip as he searched for words that wouldn’t wound his sensitive twin’s fragile self esteem. “It’s just too colorful for me,” he decided. “But they’re your nails. You do what makes you happy.”

Michael chewed on that. Literally. He nibbled his lower lip as he thought. “I want to be accepted back into our family. I know I’m useless, but... I thought if I could figure these new words out, maybe they would...” He looked away, curling in, leaving his thoughts unvoiced.

Lucifer was at his side in an instant. 

“I’ve failed them,” his brother sniffed.

Lucifer took his twin in his arms, feeling a mixture of rage, self-loathing, and determination warring within. “No. They failed—” That wasn’t right. _“We_ failed you. _I_ failed you.”

Michael rubbed at his eyes before letting his head rest on Lucifer’s chest. “You rescued me. You care, you never fail anyone, you’re the Lightbringer, I’m just—”

“The twin brother I didn’t even suspect had been taken away. It should’ve been easy to see. You were never anything like that maggot parading around pretending to be you. I’m sorry.” There was so much more he wanted to say, _needed_ to say, but when he looked at his brother, he couldn’t.

Michael saw goodness in him. But if he knew the truth... Lucifer wasn’t ready to be rejected by his twin all over again, and Michael? Where would he— _could_ he—go if he knew everything Lucifer had done? If he left?

Lucifer was out of his depths. Perhaps it was time to have a chat with Dr. Linda. 

Tomorrow. 

He would talk to her tomorrow.

“I’m not worth apologizing to,” Michael countered, but something in his voice suggested he wanted it. To be worth something. Lucifer knew that feeling all too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed chapter post.
> 
> Halloween was pretty wonderfully time consuming.
> 
> Also, the draft is currently only up to chapter 15. So I am going to slow down to once a week posts until I finish the first draft. Probably three or four weeks? Maybe less.
> 
> Then I’ll be back to twice weekly.


	11. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember all those peaceful cute chapters you were reading?
> 
> Wave good bye. Things are about to take a turn. 😈

He dreamed that night.

As himself.

His _real_ self: the person he hadn’t been for longer than he could remember. 

His sister was with him, but her face kept shifting between beautiful and plane, from one thing to the next. In neither form could he make out her features clearly, but her voice was like a bell. Lilting and sweet, even when angry.

“You are an _idiot._ I don’t believe it! You can’t just wander around in here, you need to keep to the proper paths. This is raw dream-stuff! It’s _dangerous.”_

What was her name again? N... Nu... He forgot it long ago.

“I... I mean no harm. I was curious... I...”

She took his hand and sighed. She was wearing a simple pink frock, low cut v-neck revealing her petite frame.

“Oh _Cluhruhruh_ —” his original name was too muddled to make out, “I am pleased to see you, I just wish you’d stop and think before you did things.” He used to be so careless. So impulsive. What changed? Was it him? Or the mind of his angel mingling with his? “You could have gotten yourself into so much trouble,” his sister explained emphatically.

He wanted to hug her, to tell her how much he missed her. But that was not the narrative of this story. It reminded him of Hell. Seeing her and not really seeing, talking yet unable to say what was in his heart, holding her hand, but not really touching.

And smiling, even though he knew what was coming.

He bowed his head, cowed by her reprimand. “I really am sorry. Truly. It was stupid of me. But...”

She stopped walking. Oh, were they walking? He hadn’t noticed. She leaned her hand on the door to her quarters and raised an eyebrow expectantly at him. “You want to know what that was in there?”

“Yes!” Excitement bubbled up inside him. “Please.”

“Nothing.” She pushed open the door and entered her rooms.

“Beg pardon?” He followed, feeling utterly confused. Though he couldn’t make anything out clearly, he knew it was lavish with comfort. Filled with anything and everything one could dream of wanting.

“Literal nothingness. That door leads beyond our reality. It exists outside of what the Gods created. It’s nothing.”

Gods. Right. Back then, he called them Gods. Everyone did, but they weren’t what he and his kind thought. They were just celestials, like all others of their kind, unworthy of adoration or worship. Self-important, heartless monsters who held no love for the things and people they created.

Fire streaked across the sky, drawing his attention upward. His sister’s rooms were gone. They were running for their lives. Fear clutched his heart, and terror addled his mind. All around, people were fleeing. A loud crashing resounded from above, and he jumped back. As the boulders fell, he scrambled to get through them, to get to... 

No. 

No, please. 

His sister lay still, eyes unseeing as a trail of blood snaked from her lips. She had been leading him to the nothingness, their only chance of escape. She was going to take him to a place beyond everything.

A place beyond time, beyond light and dark. A place beyond ending.

And beyond death.

Everything was ending. The ‘Gods’ decided that their plans to fight were more important than life. “Apocalypse,” they called it. Murder, genocide, and mass extinctions, more like. 

A winged being looked down upon the world with disinterest and the ground shook with its intent. It held a sword in its hand, and death in its gaze, as everything it looked upon died.

He ran. 

He ran endlessly, scrambling under cover, dodging cracks in the ground, avoiding fallen pillars and crumbling structures. Everyone else was gone. Everyone he ever knew was gone, but his fear drove him onward. His fear and his rage. He ran until he found it.

The passageway.

It floated in the crumbling reality, and desperately, he threw himself at it. He tore open the door and fell into emptiness.

The void welcomed him. It took him. And he was lost to it.

Michael sat up, gasping, a wave of disorientation hitting as memories that weren’t right—memories that weren’t _his_ —flooded in. Who? What?

As his brain came on, he felt his current form taking hold of her thoughts to dominate once again. The memory of the dream faded. Linda yawned, blinking the sleep from her eyes. It was time to start another day.

Day Seven:

As she stretched, she suppressed the memories that did not belong anymore. That other person had vanished in the void. It was odd that she had a dream as her former self, though. This rarely happened, and she wondered if she might be wrestling with some sort of latent desires or unfulfilled longings. Maybe PTSD?

Wow.

Being a psychologist was strange. This form was far too interested in his past life, and the person he had been before Michael. That’s what the dream was about, right? Just this form wanting to pick his brain. Yep. That’s all. It didn’t mean anything. 

Denial.

The voice in her head was ruthless, but she pushed it aside.

The sound of Charlie fidgeting in his co-sleeper quickly drew her away from the troublesome thoughts, and she made herself busy fussing over the tiny being. Charlie smiled as she came into view and her heart filled to bursting at the sight of so much love directed her way, and as a tear of joy escaped her eyes, she cooed at him. Today was going to be a good day.

After feeding, burping, and changing him, she made her way out of the room to find that Amenadiel had already prepped breakfast and caffeine-free tea for her. The angel was staring into space, his brooding expression darkening the atmosphere in the kitchen.

“It’s your day off, right?” he queried. Linda paused. No good morning? Dark circles under his eyes? Uh-huh.

“Did you sleep last night?” As she spoke, she set their squirming child on his play mat.

Amenadiel smiled tiredly at her. “I... no. I was thinking about what you said. About Maze.”

Linda nodded as she nibbled on her buttered toast. “And how I don’t feel safe with that thing out there?” She reminded, glancing nervously at their child. She resisted the urge to laugh at the irony of the role she played.

Amenadiel put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Charlie is safe. As I said, changelings are rare, and this one wouldn’t be interested in a baby.”

So true. It was nice that Amenadiel understood him well enough to know that, at least, but Linda was still worried about Mazikeen. “I know. I try not to worry, but if I’m right, Maze was still left behind. Again. In Hell.”

The first of God’s angels nodded. “Which is why I’m going back. Hopefully, it won’t take long, but...” He trailed off as his eyes landed on Charlie.

“I’m home today. We’ll be here when you get back.” She hugged him, squeezing to show her appreciation. When she let go, he knelt to kiss Charlie on the forehead and stare at him with all the fondness he possessed.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured as he stood again. Linda nodded.

“Thank you for checking on her.”

Amenadiel offered a gentle smile as he unfurled his wings. One more look at Charlie, then he left. The gust of wind from his wings flapping once tossed her hair, and Charlie squealed in delight. And just like that, he was gone. 

Good. She still felt a little guilty about ditching Mazikeen to escape. Bringing her back would put a stop to the distracting feeling of... betrayal? No. More like compassion. And it got Amenadiel out of the way.

Linda grinned at the child chewing on his mirror toy. “You and I will have fun together, won’t we?”

***

The bullpen was bustling, but Ella was stuck in place. 

She had been so sure when she talked herself into marching in and demanding that she be allowed to get back to work. She didn’t need time alone. She needed something to do. But now that she was there...

The day before had been rather magical. She liked Lucifer’s surprise twin brother. For a guy who had clearly been in a devastating accident, head injury and all, he was really... smart? Optimistic? Pro-active. Yep. That was the word. If he wasn’t letting his trauma hold him back, she figured she wouldn’t either.

But...

Pete haunted this place. 

Her lab still had the files she’d gotten from his house, and the pictures they developed together when Lucifer had been drugged by the copycat— _Pete’s_ copycat. Heck, the key to his house was still on her counter. She turned away from the lab and all it’s reminders of him, but it didn’t help. Her mind’s eye saw him being escorted to a cell, and the interrogation rooms held his phantom, sitting smugly across the table from her. And not just the one he’d been held in, either. All of them. Ella wanted to disappear. She wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and shrink into nothingness.

Taking a deep breath, then another, and several more after that, she calmed herself down. Ella was being ridiculous. It was no big deal. She could do this. She could—

Dan came out of the break room and lit up at the sight of her. 

Ella waved, and he awkwardly waved back. He’d been out of sorts for a bit, she remembered. He needed a hug! Yep. She wasn’t avoiding her problems by heading his way. Nope.

“Ella?” He smiled nervously as she approached.

“Hey you!” She threw her arms around him, noting how twitchy he was, and wondering if he was on something. Maybe he got the dose wrong. Anti-anxiety meds were tricky.

“You coming back to work?” He pulled back, and tried to affect as casual an air as a clearly stressed-out guy could. He was terrible at it. Something was definitely up with him. But he was clearly done hugging, so she gave him space.

“Yeah, maybe. I mean, that was the idea, but now that I’m here, I’m kinda freaking out a bit.” She leaned back on the wall and crossed her arms, closing in. Dan’s eyes softened. He grew less jittery, too.

“Right. Take as long as you need. Chlo is taking time off, too, I think. Maybe the two of you can get together...?” He shrugged.

Ella beamed. “Dude, we totally did! She showed up at my place with coffee and we had breakfast in bed together. It was pretty great, and I saw her yesterday, too, though, we weren’t hanging out—” Was she rambling? 

“That’s nice, what did you do yesterday?” He started walking again, making his way to his desk, and she matched his pace. He fidgeted with his bracelet as he went.

“Oh, I was—” Ella made air quotes, “—angel-sitting,” she laughed. “Lucifer’s words. Did you know he has a twin brother?”

Dan froze, eyes widening more than she thought they could. “Angel-sitting?” Was his voice trembling? Ella shrugged the thought aside, because the reaction made no sense.

“Yeah, you know Lucifer, always in character. So naturally, if he has a twin named Michael—that’s his real name, by the way—yeah, he would have to be the _archangel_ Michael.” Ella laughed, but Dan looked like he saw a ghost. Probably just the shock over finding out Lucifer had a twin. 

“You met Michael?” His eyes narrowed.

“You knew?” Figured. She was the last to know. Why did Dan look so freaked, though.

“Yeah, he’s trouble.” Dan’s fists clenched.

Ella hesitated, but then she laughed, wondering if Michael ate Dan’s pudding like Lucifer. Dude was kinda obsessed with the stuff. “Yeah, like a little kid being given free reign, but it’s harmless trouble, am I right?” Dan shook his head, but she kept going. “And O. M. G. Talk about cute. I mean, so sweet, and totally adorbs, especially with how much he loves colors, am I right?” Ella elbowed her friend, and he stumbled back, jaw growing slack. “And I’m totes confident he’ll make a full recovery, because—”

Dan took a step back. He was shaking his head from side to side vigorously enough Ella caught herself, finally realizing something was not right. It was the wrong reaction. 

“You need to stay as far away from him as possible,” her friend declared, and with that, he turned on his heels and rushed off, making his way to the exit, his dominant hand edging toward his holster.

What?

The bullpen was bustling, but Ella was stuck in place.

***

Dan was in a state. He was beyond freaking out. And utterly confused.

 _“You’ve been played, Daniel.”_ Lucifer’s voice echoed in his head. 

He’d been played by the LITERAL ARCHANGEL MICHAEL—who was apparently not above lying, manipulating and... and _kidnapping!!!_ Doctor Linda said he liked to use people’s fears against them. He was dangerous. And for some reason, Lucifer was allowing him to stick around so he could continue to hurt those Dan cared about.

Lucifer was the Devil.

But still the same guy. A dick, but also a good person. A fallen angel with supernatural powers, but also an idiot. 

Dan had been wrestling with his new take on reality all week. He thought he finally got a handle on things. Until Ella showed up at work spouting on and on about how ‘adorbs’ Lucifer’s twin brother was. Because she had been ‘angel-sitting, Lucifer’s words.’

What. The. Actual. _Hell???_

Dan knew Ella had a soft spot for bad dudes. Why else would she have allowed him to get into her pants? But she thought she was finally with a good guy. Heck, everyone did. Turned out Pete was a serial killer. Dan would have thought that was as bad as it could get, until now. Was Michael playing on her weakness for some reason? Yep, that would make sense. It fit. What didn’t fit was that Lucifer, for some reason, seemed to be okay with this.

Whatever Lucifer was up to, whatever weirdness compelled him to just make up with his twisted evil twin, Dan didn’t care. And whatever game that angelic bastard was playing at, he was putting a stop to it. He wouldn’t let him hurt Ella. Or anyone else.

Dan’s hand nervously squeezed around the Glock. He knew what he was gonna do. He was gonna shoot him, like he did Lucifer. Let the feathered ass know what it felt like. Then he would find a way to chase him off, and yell at his ex’s celestial consultant for endangering them all. Again.

The elevator came to a stop and the sliding doors opened to the Devil’s penthouse with their tell tale ‘ding.’ 

And sure enough, there Michael sat on the couch. The stupid scar giving him away. Michael turned to look at him with wide eyes, almost as if he were afraid. Yeah, right. The lying creep wasn’t gonna roll him twice.

Seeing red, Dan charged.

Michael jumped back in alarm as Dan came at him, wings manifesting in the process. A powerful downward thrust of those massive feathered appendages helped him jump back farther than anyone without wings could ever hope to. As he landed, he continued to back up until his back hit the sliding glass doors to the balcony.

“What the bloody Hell?” Dan heard Lucifer from another room, but he disregarded it. He would deal with him later.

Zeroing in on his oddly frightened looking target, he drew his gun and fired, letting loose a desperate scream in the process.

Several things happened at once after that. 

Lucifer was on him in an instant, tearing the gun from his hand to toss it aside as he roughly dragging him back. Michael cried out, and the glass shattered. In his apparent panic, he shattered the windows with... _his wings?_ What were those things even made of? A gust of wind blasted in from the sudden change in air pressure, then another gust from Michael flapping down once, and just like that, the penthouse was one angel less.

“Mi-Mi!” Lucifer shouted as his wings unfurled. Shining white filled Dan’s vision as he fell back, then the Devil was gone too.

Dan clambered up on shaking legs in the now empty penthouse with his heart pounding, and his brain shutting down.

All he could think about was Lucifer’s bizarre exclamation before he vanished. 

“Mi-Mi?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve drafted up to chapter 17 so far.  
> Also, I anticipate the fic bring 23 chapters long, now.
> 
> Oh, no! Michael.  
> And, oh, no! Linda!  
> And... what’s this strange feeling of compassion for doppel? Nope, just a passing thought.


	12. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor lost angel. 
> 
> Dan starts... _thinking?_
> 
> Menny goes to Hell.

Michael curled in a tight ball, wings closing up as he clasped his hands over his ears and trembled. Everything was too much. It was too _much!_

The incident kept replaying in his head.

He’d been admiring the pictures in what Lucifer called a _‘buuk’_ when the mortal stormed in, charging him with obvious malice. Michael didn’t understand. He knew he was a failed angel, but why or how that would incite such wrath, he knew not. Distaste, perhaps disdain? Disinterest? Those, he understood, but this?

Startled, he jumped back, but his attacker kept coming. The angry man produced a strange object, and suddenly, Michael was assaulted by an unfathomably _loud_ sound accompanied by the mortal screaming, and a sharp impact that resembled the feeling of being kicked in his chest. 

Overwhelmed by... _everything,_ his wings flapped in terror, and something shattered. _More noise!_

Too much!

_Too much!_

He had to get away, but everywhere he landed, he was bombarded by _things!_ Sounds, bustling activity, smells, flashing colors, lights, people, sensations...

Heart pounding, he tried again and again to find somewhere quiet. Somewhere still. But with the ringing in his ears, the pounding in his head matching rhythm with his frantic heart, the growing feeling of _wrongness_ in his gut, and the sensations coming at him from every direction, eventually, he collapsed in on himself.

It was too much. 

Too much...

He couldn’t breathe.

He was weak with fear; overcome by it. 

And not just his own, either. With so many souls nearby, feeling things so _loudly,_ it was a constant bombardment of confusing worries and anxieties. What were clowns or spiders, anyway? And why did Sandra from the 11th floor have to be so mean?

He didn’t understand. It was too much. All he could think to do was to push everyone and everything out. He closed up completely. Nothing was getting in, but a void settled over his heart, threatening to swallow him whole. It was almost worse. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he shook. He felt alone. Cut off. It was just like before, when he was trapped in the nothingness.

The sound of multiple sets of footsteps caught his attention, and he tightened his wings around himself, refusing to face whatever or whoever was out there. Then something was running a hand over his feathers.

Strange sounds followed. It was more of this new way of speaking he still didn’t know, then more hands, and more sounds.

It was too much.

The frightened, overwhelmed angel let out a distressed whimper and the hands pulled away. Time stood still. Except... it didn’t. All the strange sounds and smells were still there. The odd words he didn’t know were still coming, but then there was a word he recognized, from a voice that sounded strangely small.

“... _black_ ...” It was the color of his wings. Miss Lopez Ella taught him. Along with many others. Then another word he recognized came up.

“... _pritty_ ...” That one he wasn’t sure about the meaning. Something about all the colors on his nails and how they were nice to look at. He remembered the word because, at the time, he had wanted to tell her that she was nice to look at, too. 

_“Miss Lopez Ella pritty,” he tried, looking at her shyly through his lashes._

_The mortal at his side lost rigidity in her bones for an instant, before regaining it to bounce in place where she sat on the bed. Her hands lifted and fell repeatedly, like she wanted to hold something but wasn’t allowed, until she eventually decided to place one on his. The contact startled him, but he liked it._

_“Thank you,” she gushed, and though he was uncertain of its meaning, he felt it was an expression of gratitude._

But the use of the word, _‘pritty’_ in that horrid place made no sense. What was _pritty_ around there? He didn’t know. With all the activity and the... _everything,_ he hadn’t noticed before he closed his wings around himself and covered his ears. At first, he disregarded it. His fear of being overwhelmed again kept his wings closed tight, but slowly his curiosity taunted him.

The strange mortals kept talking, and one word repeated frequently. It felt like it might be important. “... _angel_ ...” He wanted to know the meaning of this new word, as it seemed to be paired with the word _‘pritty’_ a few times. Finally, he couldn’t help it.

He opened one wing to peak out. He wanted to see what a _‘pritty angel’_ was.

Two small mortals, and two full size ones gaped at him. One held what looked like a vaguely mortal shaped lump wrapped in _bankets._ There were rough walls on three sides, made of what looked like rectangular stones. One stood at his back and the other two continued down a long straight path, which lead to an opening where bright light shone in from a busy, bustling, active, noisy, chaotic—

Michael flinched away from that place.

It was still too much.

It was quieter in his spot with three walls and just four—or five?— mortals staring at him. Nervously, he turned his attention back to them. The _banket_ wrapped lump wiggled, confirming it was indeed some kind of living thing. Must have been a different species. 

Michael was a different species, he realized. What they must think of him, a cowardly angel lost in the mortal realm. He didn’t want to meet their eyes, but it slowly occurred to him something was off.

The full sized mortals’ mouths were hanging open, the woman had tears in her eyes, and the man was doing some kind of repetitive motion with his hand. He touched his forehead, then his chest, followed by each shoulder, only to return to his forehead and do the whole thing again. They seemed stuck.

The smaller ones were fine, though. 

They continued to chat excitedly until the taller two snapped out of whatever was causing them issues. All four conversed animatedly. The lump made a crying noise. Then the man ran off while the little ones came closer. They reached toward him, and he pulled back, closing up his wings again.

There was a raucous rumbling growl and distressing smells he didn’t understand, then the man was back, talking authoritatively. Michael peaked out again to see a strange box with a room on what looked like wheels at the end of the path. It was red. And shiny.

One of the small mortals smiled at him and reached out a hand. She took his wrist and tugged upward. Did they want him to go with them? Reluctantly, he stood, pulling his wings back, and tucking them tight to his frame, ashamed but unwilling to hide them away completely.

As he tentatively followed their lead, the two little mortals took his hands. They pointed excitedly at the colors on his nails. More incomprehensible speech followed. They grinned at him and giggled. He decided he liked them. They appreciated colors. They were probably good.

They encouraged him forward, but when it became clear he was expected to get into the noisy rumbling room on wheels, he stopped. His wings started to close up while the little mortals got in, motioning for him to follow. They smiled brightly at him, patting the seat.

He didn’t want to. But being left alone again, lost in this strange place, upset him. He was afraid. The thing they were in felt wrong. The man got in, and the lump was put in a strange contraption attached to a seat behind the small mortals. They seemed unworried. Testing, he reached out to see if any of them were afraid of the thing they were in.

Sure enough, he felt their fear.

They were worried someone would see him.

Oh.

_“plucking feathers is an unbecoming habit for an archangel.”_

_“You’re broken. The others always recover when hurt. Why won’t you?”_

_“I might as well at least make you look presentable.”_

_“You’re unwanted. No one misses you.”_

He truly was disgraceful. Michael took a deep, jagged breath and blinked back tears. If they thought him so unsightly and still showed kindness, maybe their intentions were good. Reluctantly, he got in. He sat on the seat next to the small ones, bringing his knees to his chest. He burrowed his face in his arms, wrapped his wings around himself, became as small as possible, and wished he could disappear.

***

“Linda? I’m freaking out again. I n... need— _have_ to talk to you. I... I... I’m so confused!” Dan’s hand trembled so hard he struggled to hold onto the phone.

Lucifer’s empty Penthouse was a mess. Glass scattered everywhere, and wind coming in from the balcony through the shattered windows fluttered the pages of the book laying discarded on the floor. The couch was askew and a tumbler of scotch lay tipped over on the bar.

“Breathe in, Dan. Deep breath,” Doctor Martin encouraged. He could hear her modeling the breathing technique, and did his best to match the rhythm. As he calmed down, he replayed the sequence of events, looking for clues to explain what happened.

Michael was wearing a colorful geometric patchwork hoodie, which completely clashed with the persona he had put on previously. His hair was a mess of curls, and he had been holding something when Dan burst in.

“Dan?” The doctor’s voice was soft, like she was worried she might spook him if she raised it. 

“I’m... I’m here,” he confirmed.

Michael had been reading a book, Dan recollected. His hands had bright colors on them. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on the details. He saw those colors somewhere else... on _Ella!_ That’s when it clicked. Apparently, when she painted her nails, she painted Michael’s, too. Why would he let her paint his nails???

“Can you tell me what happened?” Linda slipped into her therapist's voice. Reassuring and clinical.

Could he? He was still trying to make sense of it, himself. Dan looked at his gun, which still lay halfway across the floor from when the Devil wrenched it from his grip. Lucifer had been defending his twin. Last Dan knew, Lucifer hated Michael. What changed?

“I... I thought Michael was the bad guy,” Dan blurted. 

“You have good reasons to feel that way. Has something changed your mind?”

Dan needed to sit down. He sat on the couch and stared at his leg as it restlessly bounced up and down. He needed to move. He stood up and started pacing.

“I shot him.”

“Michael?”

Dan had a headache. He was sweating like a pig. He ran his sleeve over his forehead, trying to soothe the discomfort. His eye twitched. He needed to calm down. He needed a drink.

“Yeah, I found out he’s still around, so I figured if I shot him, he might get the hint and go away.”

Dan poured a glass of the Devil’s liquor. Lucifer might complain, but he figured the celestial flying dick owed him for turning his world upside down and making no sense.

“And did he?” Linda’s voice betrayed a hint of excitement. Odd.

Dan downed the bourbon. Satan had excellent taste in alcohol. After swallowing a few times, he realized the doctor asked a question.

“Oh, y... yeah, he left. But—”

“Good, that’s good. Do you know where he went?” 

Dan’s foot kicked the book laying on the floor as it accidentally connected during his pacing. Curious, he knelt down to pick it up. It was a... _what?_ Before his hand even reached it, he froze.

“Why would he be reading a ‘My First Animal’s’ book?” He picked it up. It had cute illustrations of different animals with the names printed in bright bold colors at the bottom of each page. Tiger. Bear. Snake. When Trixie was a toddler, she had one just like this... wait. Upon closer inspection, he realized it _was_ the same book. Which meant Chloe gave it to him... or to Lucifer.

What?

“I...” The doctor faltered. “I’m not following, I’m afraid. Can you try backing up a bit?”

Right. He called for answers, but all he was doing was confusing her. Taking a breath and sinking back into the couch, he recounted the events, starting with Ella stopping by. As he talked, his mind worked to sort the madness out. By the time he finished, only one explanation remained.

“Do you think there’re two Michaels? Or... that he has—” what did the psychology books call multiple personalities? Oh, right. “—Dissociative Identity Disorder?” Angels were immortal, which gave them plenty of time to have their minds messed with, to be pushed to the breaking point. As the Joker said, ‘all it takes is one bad day.’ Maybe psychological disorders were standard affair for celestials, after all, Lucifer was—

“I don’t know, Dan. Amenadiel never mentioned anything about it, but that doesn’t completely discount the possibility.”

Right. An uncomfortable silence settled in. The idea of literally insane immortals flying around messing with things was kinda terrifying. He really hoped he was wrong.

Linda sighed on the other end. “Dan, you should probably just try to go about your day and focus on centering yourself. I’ll go ahead and reach out to Lucifer. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for all of this.”

Right.

That made sense.

Right?

“O...okay. Ye... Yeah.” Get back to work. Center himself. He could do that. 

***

Amenadiel was confused. The room was empty. Did they move the changeling? If so, why?

Or was Linda right?

Frustrated, the angel tried to think things through logically before jumping to conclusions. He thought back on what had happened last time he was in Hell, when he and Lucifer dragged Michael down with them. Amenadiel smirked, remembering the dumbfounded expression on the manipulative creep’s face.

_“Hell? What do you think you’re playing at? Do you really think Dad will stand for this?” Michael demanded as he fought to break from Amenadiel’s hold._

_“I’ve no bloody clue, and frankly, Mikey, I don’t care.” Lucifer’s eyes flashed as he addressed his twin._

_“I had to fall to learn a thing or two about not messing with mortal lives, but that was self-actualized. Something tells me you don’t feel even a shred of guilt over what you’ve done.” Amenadiel remarked. “So if we want you to learn to behave, it’ll be up to us.”_

Amenadiel chuckled at how insulted his brother had— he stopped himself. _Not_ his brother. It wasn’t his brother. The thought was more than sobering. Because it meant that they had been played. They had _all_ been played. For eons. Even Father. Amenadiel chose to move on from that thought, unwilling to unwrap the implications of that particular revelation quite yet.

After locking Mikey up in a room so he could punish himself, Amenadiel and Lucifer chatted. They figured a few weeks down there would be less than a couple hours topside... probably? Math wasn’t Amenadiel’s strong suit, and Hell time was hardly consistent. Either way, he offered to stick around, just in case Michael acted up and needed another atomic wedgie, or something.

Having time to kill, he decided to explore Hell. He felt this was overdue. After all, he sent Lucifer back there so many times without a second thought. And he had no idea what it was really like down there. Even when he was watching Hell for Lucifer, he tended to stick to the gates and Hell Loops. He didn’t really know _Hell._

His explorations left him feeling heavy with remorse, and by the time he came back to check on things, he made up his mind to be extra nice to Lucifer. And to apologize. The Loops, as dismal as they were, really were the nicest places down there. 

But when he returned from his venture, everything was wrong.

Michael was a doppelgänger. Maze and Lucifer left to find the real Michael. And the imposter was locked up in a loop until further notice.

Amenadiel glared at the empty room. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was starting to look like it escaped. The sound of footsteps caught his attention and he turned to see... 

Daniel? 

Oh, no, that was a demon disguised as Daniel.

“Sorry, I thought you might be Lord Lucifer,” the demon rushed to explain, raising his hands.

“What happened? Where’s the changeling?” 

Not-Daniel shrugged. “Left. It imprinted on Mazikeen. Then it left,” he chuckled. “Cleaver. Escaping Hell? I’m kinda impressed, y’know.”

Amenadiel’s heart sank. Linda was right. Poor Maze. Always getting left behind. The angel took a fortifying breath. He wouldn’t add to that, though. He was her friend. He was going to find her, make sure she knew how much everyone loved and missed her, and he would bring her home.

“Do you know where Maze went?” he asked.

“Left with Astaroth. They don’t seem to be interested in being found.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mi-Mi doesn’t understand divinity around humans. Poor guy.
> 
> Oh, Dan. Normally talking to Linda = good. Doppel definitely chose the right person for manipulating.
> 
> Menny is a bit slow, but he’s catching on. Time to go find Maze... whose been in Hell for quite a while now.


	13. Portentous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer is looking.  
> Ella in church has a revelation.  
> Poor lost angel.

Lucifer collapsed against the wall and sank into a sitting position as he buried his face in his hands, fingers gripping at his hair. He was currently in a suburban neighborhood, somewhere in Sydney. Michael was nowhere in sight. 

He was vaguely aware of people staring at him, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. His twin was missing. He could be anywhere. And Earth was too loud, busy, active, bright... it would break him.

The Devil’s fingers clenched, pulling at his hair and the shock of pain drew his attention away from his distress. His hands shook. He didn’t know what to do. His hands clenched again, and he was grateful for the pain. He needed to think, he needed to fix this, but he didn’t know how.

Try again. He could try again.

Taking a ragged breath, he reached out to see if he could feel anything... that nebulous hint of connection; a feeling he was probably deluding himself into thinking was real, but it was all he had to go off of when his brother flew the coop. And now it was gone. Lucifer’s hands clawed into his scalp as he struggled to breath. Either he had imagined the connection—if he could call it that— or his brother was trying to hide so utterly that he found a way to shrink his presence no nearly nothing. Or something was wrong. Lucifer didn’t know which. All he knew was that as soon as he found Michael in that dreadful non-place beyond, a kind of familiarity... an inclination of.... of... he tried to find a word to quantify the feeling. Caring? Understanding? Wholeness?

Whatever it was, he couldn’t feel it anymore.

That feeling, which had led him on a wild goose chase, taking him to Central Park, Seoul, Saint Petersburg, Venice, Salt Lake City, and now Sydney, was gone. One moment it felt like his brother was panicking so much it was stifling, and the next moment, there was nothing to feel.

What if he lost his—whatever it was—with Michael?

What could he do? How was he going to find him? _where are you, Michael?_ He pleaded silently as he curled in on himself. And that’s when he got an idea. 

Prayer! Of course. 

Lucifer breathed in slow and deep through his nose, then he exhaled. He put his hands together and reached out. _Michael? Mi-Mi? Please, let me find you._

Lucifer waited. Nothing happened.

Lucifer screamed.

The Australian suburbanites who had been cautiously approaching stepped back, and he leveled what he could only imagine was a wild, unhinged expression their way. The curious humans scurried back. Several of them extracted phones. Great, they were calling authorities.

Lucifer clenched his fists.

Then, with an inhuman force of will, he pushed his distress down to a low simmer. He stood up and flashed a disarming smile at the gawkers.

“No need to worry, I’ll be leaving now.”

The phones lowered. A woman smiled shyly at him, instantly forgetting her fears.

Lucifer adjusted his suit, smoothing the creases and aligned his cuff links. He ran his hands over his ruined hair, and he strode off the lawn with purpose. A couple humans moved toward him, but he was not interested in small talk. He quickened his pace. He rounded a corner, unfurled his wings, and left before they could catch up.

Back at the Penthouse, he headed for the bar, disregarding the broken glass from the balcony for now. Daniel, it seemed, had left. Most likely to curl up in a ball somewhere to freak out. Lucifer smirked cruelly. Good. That’s what he got for shooting Mi-Mi.

Thoughts of revenge played out in his mind’s eye. He could sick a cassowary on him. Put Gympie Gympie Plant on his chair—having been in Australia was giving him ideas. 

But even as he thought up devious punishments, a voice in his head reprimanded him. He never bothered to talk to Daniel about his brother. He never explained _anything_ to him. Daniel still thought Michael was the mingebag responsible for kidnapping the Detective. Lucifer never bothered. This was his own fault.

Like it always was.

 _You ruin everything you care about,_ the voices in his head accused.

A sob slipped out unbidden from the Devil’s lips.

_You are poison to everything you touch._

He ruined lives. Another sob.

Lucifer sank into the couch, his quest for a drink forgotten. Michael was out there, lost in a world he didn’t understand, frightened, confused, overstimulated, and probably exposing divinity to weak-minded humans who would become obsessed upon sight. He was at their mercy. And it was Lucifer’s fault.

_It’s always your fault._

Silent tears escaped his eyes. He clenched his fists and gasped for breath.

How long before he ruined the Detective? Or Doctor Linda, or—

‘Highway to Hell’ started playing in his pocket. Startled, he straightened and snatched his phone up. Speak of the Devil’s therapist. It was Linda.

Swallowing a couple times and clearing his throat, he brought the phone to his ear and answered the call.

“Doctor, I’m so glad you called, I need—”

“Lucifer!” She cut him off, her voice high and hysterical. “I need your help. The doppelgänger has your brother. And he has Charlie, too!”

***

Ella walked down the pews of the church, lost in thought. She couldn’t stop thinking about Dan’s odd behavior. It had been a crazy morning, and it was only—she glanced at her watch—11:43. Angelus would be starting soon. No wonder there were so many believers finding their way in. She wondered fleetingly what they would think of her ‘angel-sitting’ yesterday, but brushed the thought aside.

After Dan left the precinct, she tried to brush his reaction off too, and talk to the lieutenant, but she only made it halfway there before fleeing to her car to cry, as her thoughts ping ponged between Pete and Dan’s reaction. Eventually, she settled on worrying about Dan. Of the two, that was easier.

She tried calling and texting, but the only reply she got was to stay away from Michael. Which, first of all: No! And secondly: Why? And most of all: she was tired of staying away from people. She was tired of feeling so awful about herself.

But...

Heart pounding, Ella made her way down the pews to where the faithful waited for their turn in the confessionals. She really needed guidance. She needed to be told it was okay, that she wasn’t a bad person, that she— 

Portentous whispers from the pew in front caught her attention as she sat.

“Dude, that’s totally gotta be cgi. There’s no way,” she heard Fernando arguing, voice thick with intent. Glancing up, she saw three of her church friends leaning in around a phone. Ella was a bit surprised to see them, as all three were more casual attendants than anything else. Not that she was judging. That was kinda her thing, too. Maybe they all came to confess? 

Amanda, a short round cheeked blond, held the phone. “No, this was caught by a 13 year old, look at the quality, its amateur filming. Kids can’t afford cgi,” she retorted. “Look at those wings. They’re super real.”

As she spoke, Ella spotted the deacon making his way down the aisle toward the stage to lead prayer.

“Yeah, and what about the other vids?” Tyrone contributed, recapturing her interest. 

Ella drew closer. What were they talking about? As she leaned on the back of the pew, she caught their attention and all three looked her way, lighting up.

“Dude, Ella! You here because of the angle sightings, too?” Fernando exclaimed. _Angel sightings?_ “Chica, you gotta tell us if this is legit.”

Ella grinned. She didn’t know anything about any ‘angel sightings,’ but of course they wanted her ‘expert opinion.’ Being the scientist/tech person in this social circle, it wasn’t the first time. 

“Yeah, totes!” she fibbed enthusiastically. She wasn’t exactly willing to tell them the real reason for her visit, and the distraction was more than welcome. “That’s what I’m here for!” She extended her hand toward the phone. 

“Here,” Amanda passed her device over. “Ella, tell ‘em it’s real.” 

Ella started the video over. It was shaky, held at an odd angle: classic inexperienced selfie vid. A middle school girl was talking in what Ella could only guess was Italian. She smiled and duck-faced, when suddenly, behind her in front of a fountain, a figure just... _appeared!_... out of nowhere. People gasped, pulling back from the surprising presence. The girl whirled around, allowing the video to focus entirely on the new arrival. Then it spread these crazy big beautiful raven black wings before vanishing again. Poof! Gone!

“Holy fudge nuggets!” Ella exclaimed, pausing the vid and going back.

“Right?” Tyrone agreed emphatically, “My man got _wings!_ Like, damn, those things are _legit!”_

The others started to argue again, the guys pulling up their phones to search for more ‘angel sighting’ vids. As they went on and on about all the places that saw it— _him_ — appear, she freeze framed Amanda’s phone.

They were spouting off locations like Kyoto, Sidney, Venice, ‘somewhere in South Africa,’ but Ella lost track. She stared at the image in disbelief.

The figure faced away, black pants, familiar geometric hoodie, a shock of curly black hair, tall frame, and... No. Way! Ella zoomed in. One hand was clearly visible. A Red thumb nail, then orange, yellow, light blue, and lavender. Ella looked at her hand with the matching nail polish. No way. Shut the front door! No way. 

“It’s a fake!” Ella blurted, and they all turned to her. Mierda! Now they expected an explanation. What was she supposed to say? “I was, like, surprised when I saw this one, cause, yeah, it’s way more real than the others, but, common,” she waved a hand and pursed her lips together, “pshh, it’s so obvs they slapped raven wings on the guy.” Her brain screamed at her even as she said it. Those were so not shaped like any bird wings she’d ever seen. Nope!

“Yeah, but—” Amanda started.

“I mean, actually, I was just stopping by to let everyone know they’re investigating the perps responsible for these pranks at the precinct. Some guys, they just hijacked other peep’s vids and messed with them. So uncool.” She handed the phone back.

Her mini audience was crestfallen, but she couldn’t tell them the truth. She just _couldn’t_ do that to Mi-Mi. Or Lucifer. 

¡Joder!

Ella’s brain short circuited. 

Lucifer!

She stood up and started backing out of the pews, her feet moving on their own, as her church friends stared at her in alarm.

Ella laughed, a high-pitched, manic sound. She told herself not to jump to conclusions. Lucifer and Mi-Mi were just pranking people, right? Lucifer had the funds for all the cgi he wanted! He totally did. But a voice in her head pointed out that he would never use his hurt brother like that!

Mi-Mi... _Saint Michael_ had been hurt. The Devil was taking care of him, and now he was possibly lost. 

No. 

Ella laughed again. That was impossible. There was no freaking way. Lucifer was a method actor. A really good one, too.

“Sorry, I just...” She pointed behind her as she smiled frantically. “I uh... something’s come up, I mean, I just remembered, yeah, I gotta... call... see a friend,” she was turning and running out of the church before she finished speaking. She nearly crashed into an elderly man crossing himself in front of the tabernacle, and a very vivid memory of dragging Lucifer with her to the church and making him go through those same motions suddenly flooded her brain.

She took Lucifer to church. He expressed reverence before the tabernacle. He dipped two fingers in holy water and snarked about how some people thought this would destroy him. She had laughed.

Because it was funny.

It _was_ funny. Lucifer in church had been hilarious, from start to finish. He acted like a pouty kid the entire time.

As she exited the building, her phone was in her hand. She needed to call him. She needed to...

More manic laughter. She was jumping to ridiculous conclusions. A little chat with the—with _Lucifer_ would clear this all up. Yeah. That would sort everything right out. For sure.

Yep.

The phone rang as she held it to her ear, but there was no answer. When it went to voicemail, she tried again. And maybe a third time. Because, damn it, this was important! Finally, she stilled herself and called once more to leave a message.

She paced as she waited, her free hand clenching and unclenching as possibilities kept spiraling around in her head. Wild explanations to keep things normal, but the more she thought about it, the less plausible it felt.

Occam’s razor.

The simpler explanation tended to be the correct one.

Besides, she _was_ a believer. And Lucifer _always_ told the truth. 

Why was it so hard to accept that he might actually be who he said he was?

It would go a long way to explain Dan’s odd reaction when compared with what she knew of Michael. Lucifer did say a doppelgänger—

The phone stopped ringing and the voice message Lucifer set up greeted her again. 

“Hello,” the Devilish man purred, derailing her thoughts. “You’ve reached Lucifer Morningstar. Don’t bother asking for sex, or favors, or sex favors,” he chuckled at his last comment before continuing, “but if you desire to leave a message, you may. Especially if you seek a discussion of award winning cocks, drugs and where to find them, or anything else that isn’t boring.” Ella snorted. 

The phone beeped, and her brain blanked on the message she had mentally prepped. 

“Hey bud, it’s Ella,” she laughed nervously. “So, yeah, I was just wondering, Michael...” How was she supposed to word this without sounding crazy? She laughed again. She probably already sounded crazy. “Wings, huh?” She groaned inwardly. “Yeah, are you guys... like... okay? I’m worried. Call me?”

She ended the call and stared at her phone. 

That message was the worst. But... hopefully he would call back.

Maybe. Ella rolled her eyes. That was a big ‘maybe’ with Lucifer.

Ella stood at the bottom of the steps of her church and stared. Then she opened google and started a search.

‘Angel Sightings.’

Screw waiting to hear back from her flakey—possibly celestial—friend. Ella was going to get to the bottom of this on her own. 

***

Michael held himself as the strange thing he was in stopped rumbling. He didn’t know why it became silent, but it didn’t matter. His eyes remained shut, his hands stayed over his ears, and his wings continued to fold in around him. The position was a tight fit for the available space in the currently slumbering thing, but he didn’t like being there, and curling in helped to lessen the sensations assaulting him.

He rocked back and forth to distract himself, then doors opened, and the thing lurched as the mortals got out, before the doors closed again. They jarred him as they slammed in around him. Next, he heard muffled chattering. There were new voices. He trembled. He didn’t want to be seen by more mortals. He wanted quiet. He wanted Samael. 

He considered letting things in again so he could try to pray for help, but stopped himself for fear of being bombarded by everyone else’s fears all over again. Besides, asking for help would be pathetic. He should be capable of fending for himself.

He was ashamed of how poorly he was dealing. The mortals likely thought him a joke, but Dad’s creation turned out to be so much bigger... and so much _more_ than he had ever imagined. He couldn’t help being overwhelmed.

The door closest to him opened and hands were suddenly on his wings.

Michael yelped.

The hands pulled back. Startled chattering followed.

The lost angel started to cry. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to disappear, he couldn’t handle—

More hands, more words, they were roughly pulling on feathers and flesh, trying to get him out. He let them pull him from the thing. There wasn’t any reason not to. He had no strength to fight back. His limbs were weak, and fighting never worked before anyway.

Trembling and struggling to breath, he felt them handling him. They were taking him somewhere. He wept. He knew being with Samael couldn’t last. And now it was over. Why had the strange mortal attacked him?

Why did he fly away?

This was his fault. He should have stayed. He should have tried harder. He should have made himself more useful.

But it was too late for that now. Sammy was gone, and the rest of his family never cared. The mortals were the only ones paying him any interest. He didn’t like it. Hands were in his wings, chattering filled his ears, fingers caressed covert, and he let them do as they pleased, as his tears fell silently from his tightly shut eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, everyone, if you don’t know about them yet, look up cassowaries and Gympie Gympie plant. Then you’ll know how mad Lucifer is at Daniel.
> 
> I am mostly done drafting chapter 20. It’s an important chapter, so I’m taking time to try to get it right.


	14. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luci on the phone, Mi-Mi is distressed, Ella is getting things done.

“What?” Lucifer must have misheard.

“He has Charlie! I think he has Michael, why else would he let me go? Lucifer, you—”

Lucifer would have collapsed had he not already been sitting. Let her go? What did that? The doctor continued to ramble on. Something about it imprinting on Maze, then doing it to her and locking her up in some studio, and about how it was obsessed with being Michael, and it had Charlie... 

A ringing in his ears drowned out the rest of what she said. It drowned everything out. Except for the voices. The voices were screaming at him, and try as he might, he couldn't push them down.

_Poison._

_Venom._

_Worse than any drug. Good people get hooked, only to be destroyed by you._

_Monster._

It was all his fault.

He was the Devil.

_Evil._

Lucifer closed his eyes and dug his hands into his hair, only to realize there was none there to grab. He looked at his hands, red, scarred, and twisted. A self deprecating laugh bubbled up. He was surprised when Linda made no comment, until he realized he’d dropped his phone.

Did she think he hung up on her?

The Devil took a deep breath. He needed to stay in control. He needed to focus. He made this mess, he had to fix it. Now. He reached for his phone with a trembling clawed hand.

It had a fine crack running across the screen. Frustration and distress hit, and his hand clenched. The crack spread into a spider web fracture, and Lucifer roared.

 _Now look what you’ve done,_ the voices jeered. _You really do destroy everything, don’t you?_

He almost crushed his phone outright, but stopped himself. Doctor Linda needed him.

He focused on quieting the voices.

He was not evil. This was the doppelgänger’s fault. He shouldn’t blame himself for everything. The phone was an accident. The Detective would want him to forgive himself. He wasn’t sure he wholly believed he deserved it, but he wanted to. Chloe deserved happiness. Mi-Mi and doctor Linda, too, and if that meant forgiving himself for yet another, in a long line of screw ups, very well. 

He took deep, calming breaths, and continued the positive self-talk his therapist often suggested he do until he felt the fires in his heart die down.

He brought the phone back to his ear. “Doctor?” His voice was normal. Lucifer looked at his free hand, no longer red and monstrous. He just hoped he hadn’t damaged the phone enough to disconnect the call.

“Lucifer? Are you okay?” She sounded panicked, but at least the line wasn’t dead. Worry laced her tone as she kept trying to get his attention. “Can you hear me? What happened? Lucifer?” Because even after everything she’d been through, she still cared about him.

He sniffed. “Yes, fine, fine. Only a minor phone accident. I’m just dandy, thank you.” He was shaking, and beyond stressed, but relative to some, sure, he was fan-bloody-fastic. “But you’re not.” 

His declaration was met with silence at first. Then he heard a sniff, and finally, a wet scratchy reply, “No, I’m not.” The doctor started to cry on the other end.

Lucifer ran his hand through his hair. His therapist was crying. He had to fix this. He had to set things right. “It’s alright, doctor, I’m on my way.”

“But you don’t know where—”

“Tell me, is the place you're in cramped? Lots of dust bunnies, cobwebs maybe? Odd knick knacks? Is there a bloody eyesore sign in lime green, reading, ‘here,’ by any chance?”

The doctor was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, she sounded hesitant. “Yes?”

She was at 11916 Pico Blvd.

“I’m on my way.” He hung up and stood, wings unfurling again. He had to collect his thoughts. He had to think. 

In all likelihood, the maggot had Michael. Most likely locked him in the same bloody spot, next to that same infernal wall. Which made this easy. He would rescue Linda, find Charlie and Mi-Mi, then tear that vile tosser apart. Yes, this was a good plan. First, he could be a guardian Devil, then he could be—well, the Devil. 

A vicious grin curled his lips as he considered all the ways he was going to break that vile thing for everything it had done. But the grin dropped as the memory of Doctor Linda sobbing on the phone jumped forward in his mind.

Lucifer took a fortifying breath.

He tried to text the Detective, but the screen was too damaged for the touch sensitive mechanisms to operate properly. Sighing, he pocketed it, figuring it may still work well enough to receive a call. He would just have to fill her in later.

“Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll set this right.” Somehow. He took one more steadying breath, then he unfurled his wings and left.

***

Michael curled under the _‘banket’_ he had been given. He was in some kind of lower level hidden room, underneath a massive structure where mortals seemed to gather for some reason. The ones in charge all had black coverings—nothing like Lucifer’s form fitting ‘fashionable clothes.’ They wore white bands at the throat, and a trinket of some kind featuring metal bars crossing at right angles hung on dainty chains around their necks. And they all looked the same.

They were men with pale skin, white or grey hair—far less than he thought was normal. Their skin seemed... worn, somehow, like it wasn’t fitting quite right. They had thin lips, sagging cheeks, and pronounced noses. Some wore a clear surface over their eyes, some were taller, others shorter, one had a stunted posture... but when they looked at him, those minor differences vanished behind the wrongness in their gaze.

A shiver crept up his spine. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why they wanted to touch his wings so often, or why they stared at him with such longing. 

He had fallen asleep shortly after they brought him there, the exhaustion of being so upset for so long having claimed him, but it was a fitful sleep, interrupted by overpowering fear. He hadn’t meant to let the fears in again, but keeping everything out was hard. 

The strange men around him kept possessively touching his wings. It reminded him of the creature. Then they argued. They pointed accusing fingers at one another, and waved their arms about, as their strange fears crashed down on him in waves.

Why would they fear judgement? Why were they afraid of their desires? Why were they afraid of these new concepts: corruption? Hell? Damnation? They all feared losing what mattered most to them, but why did they look at him like _he_ was the thing they feared losing?

It was too much.

All of it.

He didn’t understand.

He didn’t want to sense their fear, he didn’t want their hands on him, he didn’t want them looking at him, or... or... for them to fight. 

Michael lost touch with his surroundings as he felt the familiar sensation of panic build up in his chest. He shut everything out and collapsed into a ragged feathery ball of mystery until at last, it was quiet. When he felt he could breathe again, he peaked out from behind his wings to see that only one remained. 

The one remaining mortal smiled sadly at him.

He sat on the _‘bed,’_ a flat thing with food and water in his hands. The man talked softly to him, using those words Michael did not know. He set the thing down and brought a hand to Michael’s cheek to wipe a tear away. 

He didn’t like the touch, but he was too overwhelmed to react effectively.

Someone outside his quiet room said something, and an angry expression consumed the mortal’s eyes. Michael folded his wings around himself and tried to shrink into the _’bed.’_ He flinched away from the man, anticipating a kick. 

Nothing happened. Michael felt foolish.

These mortals were not like the creature. They had no reason to kick him. He was getting worked up over nothing.

Tentatively, he parted his wings and studied the mortal, who smiled encouragingly at him. The man picked the water up and offered it to him.

Michael didn’t want it.

He didn’t want anything.

Not from them, anyway.

The strange mortal sighed and set the water down, then he reached out. His hand stopped on its path to Michael’s wing, frowning when the angel pulled it back and away. Then the man closed his eyes, took a deep breath, muttered something to himself, and he took Michael’s hand instead. The touch was gentle. It shouldn’t have upset him. 

Michael stared at the strange mortal as he inspected the colors on his finger nails. What did he want? With no other way of getting at his thought, Michael stilled himself, and reached out to see what he feared.

The fears hit with force. 

He was afraid the others were losing their minds, that they were becoming obsessed, that they lost sight of what was right. And he feared he was not far behind.

Michael reclaimed his hand, and scooted away from the mortal, then he closed his wings up around himself again as he struggled to breath. His heart rate increased and he felt his stomach churn. He didn’t want the mortal around. He didn’t want his fear. He wanted his brother. Or maybe the Detective, or Miss Lopez Ella... Even _Amenadiel_ would be better.

Even the _creature_ would be preferred.

Michael caught the sob in his throat before it could escape. He refused to cry in front of these mortals again. He refused... the pressure built and he trembled, but he kept the tears in. 

Then the _‘bed’_ shifted and he heard the sound of footsteps retreating. The door opened, then closed. He was alone. Something he both wanted and feared. And Michael allowed himself to cry.

He did not like being alone.

Curled up under the _‘banket,_ he hugged a _‘pillo.’_ The food and water sat untouched. He missed his brother... he missed the feeling of safety being with him brought. He missed the calm... even the void was preferable to this... this... 

_“You don’t belong here,”_ he heard a voice saying. He didn’t open his eyes. He knew what he would see. _“You were not made for this place. You belong with me,” the creature stroked his wings._

“Leave me alone,” Michael snapped.

_“Oh, angel. You are already alone. I’m just a phantom conjured by your broken mind.”_

Michael shook. He didn’t want to admit it, but being alone in creation terrified him.

He didn’t even know what it was he was afraid of. But this whole situation felt wrong.

He considered flying away. But then he would be...

_Out there._

And that frightened him so much more than the unnamed unease he was pretty sure was all in his head. So he stayed put. 

Not knowing what else he could do, Michael’s hand found a wing. A soft black feather slid into his grip, and he violently yanked it out.

***

Ella didn’t want to think about the things she did to get to this point. The dark net, the doxing sites, the busted hard drive... the things she said and to whom, the connections she had, the money paid, and actions taken... Actions she could never ever ever ever tell anyone at the LAPD about.

Nope.

She was not thinking about it.

_Darkness_

Pete’s voice in her head made her pause. She stared at the number on her phone and took a deep breath.

Pete was right about her. She could never have gotten this phone number by being a ball of sunshine. She had to rely on her darkness to do it, and she felt awful about it. But...

When she closed her eyes, it wasn’t Pete, she saw. 

Soft, open, trusting brown eyes, a scar across his face, a shock of curls...

_“Miss Lopez?” he parroted, offering a shy smile._

_Ella shot Lucifer an eye role, before turning back to Michael. He was curled on the couch, clutching a dark grayish green blanket, and biting his lower lip. “It’s Ella, actually,” she corrected._

_Michael blinked at her owlishly. He furrowed his brow._

_“Ella,” she tried again, patting her chest. A fist squeezed around her heart as she slowly took a step closer. Poor guy. She made a point not to look at the scar, and to try not to think about the diagnosis the doctors had probably given him. She almost wished the wild story Lucifer conjured up were true, and not just some method actor form of denial._

_As she considered the implications of head trauma, he simply nodded. “Miss Lopez Ella.”_

_Lucifer laughed, and Ella couldn’t help grinning. Because it was cute. “Yes, Mi-Mi. Miss Lopez, here is safe.” He looked pointedly at his twin. Ella’s heart went from clenching to doing flip flops. Mi-Mi? God, that was too adorable. Did that make Lucifer Lu-Lu?_

_“Safe,” Mi-Mi (She was forever calling him that, now. Yep.) repeated his brother’s word, smiling again, then his eyes met hers, and the smile spread. “Miss Lopez Ella Safe.”_

Safe.

Mi-Mi was not safe. 

But she could help. She still didn’t know what to make of the videos, and honestly, she was just not ready to cross that bridge. She could deal after her friend was safe, and if her darkness made it so she could help him, then fine. She was glad she had it.

Nodding to herself, she dialed the number. As the phone rang, she practiced what she would say, but all her plans were derailed when an angry male voice greeted her.

“We don’t have him! You all need to stop calling!” The man on the other line yelled into the phone.

Woah, what?

“If you’re with the news or the tabloids, you can drop dead, if you’re with a cult, we have guns—”

“Damn, dude!” Ella exclaimed, and the man grew quiet. “You okay?”

She sat on her couch, feeling lousy for bugging him. Silence met her, then a deep breath.

“Who is this?”

“My friend is missing,” She offered evasively. 

“Sure, right. Your ‘friend,’ the angel?” She could hear his forced patience slipping even as the sarcasm dripped around the word ‘friend.’

Ella paused. So, the family was being harassed. One random blurry picture and a witness saying they saw the angel with them, and the internet pounced, Ella along with it. She considered, then, mind made up, she charged ahead.

“Two things: I know a guy who can get the calls to stop, and I don’t know about him being an angel, but I heard you found my friend.” She waited for a reaction, but none came, so she continued, “Yeah, um... he has curly short black hair, brown eyes, a scar in his face, he’s tall and—” _gorgeous_ “—well built, and, oh, yeah, we got matching mani-pedis together with a bunch of different colors.”

She heard the phone drop on the other end. Then she heard scrambling, and ‘sorry, sorry’ repeated from a distance and finally, he was back. 

“You really _do_ know him! B... but... _how?”_

Ella laughed nervously, realizing what his disbelief probably meant. It was a hysterical, manic sound, but whatever. “I honestly don’t know, but I met his brother at work.” More laughter. “That sounded insane. Right?” The man’s confused silence was all the confirmation she needed. This whole situation was bonkers. “I just want to help him get back to his family,” she reassured.

“You work with an angel?”

Apparently? A fallen one—no, _the_ fallen one. Unless this was still an elaborate prank. A _really_ elaborate prank.

“Yeah.” She swallowed. “Can you help me?”

“We took him to a local church,” The guy said after a pause. “Seemed like the right idea at the time, but...” A heavy sigh.

“But, what?” Ella’s voice was quiet, so much so she almost didn’t hear it over the wild drumming of her heart.

“I don’t know. They were really...” he trailed off. Silence stretched and Ella gripped at her shirt to keep her hand from shaking as she waited for him to find his words again. “...off,” he finally said. “They seemed off, okay? If you know him, you should probably go get him while you can, because some of them were talking about the Pope, and Rome, and how he belongs to the church.”

Ella was speechless. Her heart crashed into her gut. 

Belonged to the church? What? He was a person, not property!

“Miss?”

Ella snapped out of her shocked daze. Right. She had a job to do. She had an angel to save. And a Devil to yell at. Yep. 

“Which church did you take him to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters to draft, then the rough (very rough) draft is finally done.
> 
> So, Lucifer off to save the day or get got? What do you think?
> 
> Poor Michael, your feeling that something is wrong is not in your head. 🥺
> 
> Ella, we love you. ❤️


	15. Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are we ready for things to start going pear-shaped? Yes? Read on.

The precinct was bustling, as Chloe made her way into a conference room, phone pressed to her ear. She must have misheard. 

“I’m sorry Ella, I didn’t catch that.”

As she spoke, she closed the door, set her files down, and dropped into a chair. She heard Ella take a deep breath.

“I’m on my way to Maryland, to see about a... a... um, yeah, a _thing_ involving Lucifer and Mi- _ichael._ It’s kinda really super duper crazily important that I talk to him, but he’s not answering his phone for me, and I’m worried, and kinda freaking out, cause I _think_ they’re like, you know, in trouble, and—” she trailed off, having run out of breath. She took in a huge lungful of air, and charged ahead, before Chloe could ask her to slow down. “—I gotta help, cause poor Mi-Mi—Mierda! _Michael!_ Mi-Mi is too childish for him, isn’t it—?”

“Ella?” Chloe tried, feeling a sympathy rush of nerves. The hyper, stressed energy coming off the phone was potent enough to wake the dead.

“—And, damn, OH! It’s probably bad to say that! But yeah, I think he’s in Maryland, and I need Lucifer to talk to me. Is he with you? Is he okay?”

“Ella, slow down.” Chloe started pacing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but no, Lucifer isn’t here. He doesn’t want to leave his brother alone—”

“I KNEW something was wrong!” The frantic scientist started hyperventilating.

Wrong? Chloe resisted the urge to freak out. She needed to get Ella to calm down, and that wasn’t happening if she got hysterical too. “Ella, breathe. It’s okay, whatever it is, you’re okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m good, I got this. You... uh, you think you can, uh, find Lucifer? Tell him to call me? If you find him? And, like, lemme know if you can’t? Oh, Snap! I gotta go, or I’ll miss my flight.”

“To Maryland?” Chloe shook her head. What was going on?

“Yep!” her friend declared, popping the p. “Oh, and tell Lucifer he better pay me back. This ticket is Hella spendy.” 

“Okay, but—”

“Gotta go! Bye!” The line went dead.

Chloe took a deep breath. She wondered if Ella’s turbulent energy had something to do with learning THE TRUTH, perhaps? But... Why Rhode Island? It was probably nothing. But one thing was certain. She had to call Lucifer. Chloe took a moment to compose herself, then she collected her paperwork, opened the door and headed for her desk. As she walked, she dialed Lucifer’s number. It went right to voicemail.

She texted, shrugged, and waited for a reply.

As she tried to get her mind to focus on the case, Dan walked up, and she almost dropped the case file. He looked terrible. He was pale, sweaty, shirt partially untucked, and twitchy. His eyes widened at the sight of her.

“Chlo?”

“Hey, are you...” she stepped toward him, only to stop when he tensed. “Okay?”

“I thought you were taking time off!” He blurted.

Chloe shrugged. “I’ve been back for a couple days, actually. But I wasn’t around. I was working a case.”

Dan nodded slowly. “Was?” He put his hands in his pockets, took them out again, and stared at the floor.

“I got a surprise lead, helped me crack it pretty quickly. Just dealing with paperwork, now.” She stepped toward him as he wiped his brow and fidgeted.

An awkward silence hovered between them, then they both spoke at once.

“Seriously, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Chloe attempted. “Michael’s still around,” Dan exclaimed. 

“What?”

“Do evil archangel’s count as ghosts?” He laughed nervously and Chloe felt her heart crash into her gut. Oh, no.

Swallowing, she looked around, then she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in close. “Michael isn’t actually evil—” she whispered urgently.

“He kidnapped you!” Dan interrupted in an angry hushed tone.

“That wasn’t him.”

“What?”

Great. Just great. Chloe took a deep breath, then, resigned, she led him back to the conference room, before launching into an explanation. As she narrated, Dan grew more and more pale.

“Didn’t you talk to Linda? She should’ve told you about this.”

Her ex covered his face in his hands and groaned. “No. She didn’t. And now I shot him! Maybe I just shouldn’t have a gun.” He was shaking. Chloe pulled him into a hug, reassuring him it wasn’t his fault. She shot the thing, too. He didn’t know this Michael was different. How could he? As she comforted the distraught man, her mind wandered back to Ella’s call. It made a lot more sense, now. But Linda omitting something this important was out of character, unless... and a feeling of dread took hold. 

“Dan?” She asked, stepping back. “When’s the last time you saw Maze?”

The flustered man shrugged. “When we rescued you. Why?”

A fist squeezed around her heart.

“And you’re sure Linda didn’t mention a doppelgänger to you?” 

He nodded. 

Chloe swallowed. Hard. Her mind worked through the facts. Ella was going to Rhode Island, Dan shot Michael, Maze was missing since right after coming back from Hell. Linda was being suspicious. And Lucifer? She checked her phone to see if he texted back yet.

Nothing.

“Dan? I um... Lucifer might be in trouble.” Chloe couldn’t stop picturing the doppelgänger as Linda. If Michael was missing, Linda would be one of the first people her partner would want to reach out to. 

Dan nodded, seemingly catching on. “Y... you should probably go find him.”

Chloe started to turn for the door, but then a stray thought crashed in. Trixie! She turned pleading eyes on Dan.

“Um…”

“So, uh... Trix? should I get her tonight, then?” he offered awkwardly. Chloe smiled, grateful for his consideration. He laughed nervously. “I was gonna ask you, but...”

“We should, yeah, if you could, I mean...” She took a deep breath to clear her head. “But let me talk to her first. To explain.”

Dan nodded, sitting back on the edge of the table as Chloe called their daughter. Trixie had karate lessons after school. She was carpooling there with a friend, and judging from the time, they were probably in transit.

As the line picked up, her ear was filled with background music and the chatter of middle school girls. “Hi Mom! Wassup?” 

Chloe took a breath and tried to explain without getting too into it. Trixie listened for a bit before interjecting.

“Mom, stop. You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re freaking out. Did something happen with Lucifer?” 

Chloe sighed, both proud of her monkey and disappointed in her own inability to shield her. “Yes... or, more like, something could’ve happened to him. I’m worried and I can’t find him. But I have to try—”

Her daughter laughed, throwing her off. “No worries, Mom. If finding him is your biggest problem, I got this.”

“What?” Chloe pulled back in alarm. 

“I put a tracker on his phone.”

What? Chloe was horrified for a split second, until she remembered who Trixie’s best friend was. 

“He has a bad habit of going AWOL, so I fixed it.” Her daughter announced proudly. “Want me to text you the access codes and stuff?”

Chloe nodded dumbly, forgetting she was on the phone and Dan looked at her with a question mark on his face. She briefly wondered who was paying for it. Dumb question. Knowing her sneaky monkey, Lucifer was paying for it, himself. Fine. Whatever. Gift horse.

“Y... yeah, sure.” 

***

“Doctor?” Lucifer rushed to his therapist and enfolded her in a protective hug. She looked a dreadful mess; hair sticking out in odd places from an unraveling bun, glasses on at an odd angle, circles under her eyes, and her posture was off.

He could feel her fingers fisting into his jacket desperately as he held her, and when he let go, her puffy, tear-worn eyes locked with his.

“Lucifer, I...”

“Never fear, doctor, I’m here now. Your ordeal is over.” 

She nodded distractedly. “I c... I can’t kee... keep having these things h...ha... happening to me. And _Charlie.”_ She shook her head, fighting back tears. Lucifer felt a chill at her words. What was she saying? He needed her. Mi-Mi needed her. 

Remembering his brother, Lucifer pulled back and started for the doorway. He didn’t want his brother to have to suffer in the emptiness for one moment more.

The doctor continued to ramble about celestial madness and how she was only human, but Lucifer didn’t really hear her. His eyes landed on the door. Wrongness permeated from it.

“Lucifer!” The Doctor practically shouted, wrenching his attention away from the door. He turned to face her in alarm.

“Doctor, I need to—”

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” She accused, anger darkening her features.

“Of course not, you were spouting nonsense, I—”

Linda took a deep breath and forced her anger down. “No, you’re not doing this to me. No. Look at me, Lucifer.” She stomped over to him. She pointed at a tattered chair, “Sit.” 

The Devil obeyed, more shocked than anything.

“For once, you have to _listen.”_ She walked up to him, glaring. “And not just _act_ like it, just to run off and do your own thing anyway. Not this time. I can’t take it.” Their eyes met. Guilt curled in his gut. She was crying. “You have to _really_ listen,” she pleaded.

Lucifer nodded, feeling oddly out of sorts. Linda started ticking off incidents on her fingers. Why was she so insistent he look her in the eye? Something about being pushed too far? Lucifer didn’t have time for this, he had to— a wave of confusion washed over him. What was he doing, again?

“Are you still listening?” The good doctor asked patiently. Her eyes were glowing. That was odd. Or was it?

A knot of discomfort expanded in his head. What was wrong with him? Linda needed him to pay attention, but he couldn’t think. She was talking. She needed... something.

Lucifer slumped in the chair as his equilibrium failed, and the woman he was supposed to be listening to caught him by the cheeks. She smiled.

“Good job, Lu...” He blanked out. “...iate your att...” 

Lucifer blinked. His body hurt. He felt weak. Something was very wrong. He tried to pull away, to figure out—what? His body didn’t want to work. Except his heart. It hammered in his chest like a woodpecker at a rotten tree.

Who was he? What? He was the... He needed to get to... _Mi-Mi._

And...

 _Pain!_

It hurt. Why did it hurt?

A woman with honey hair and bright eyes smiled in his memories.

The Detective.

Chloe...

He needed to keep her safe.

“No...” He tried to force the disorientation aside, but unconsciousness claimed him, crashing down like a tsunami on his resolve to fight back.

***

Power. 

That was the first thing he felt. Before his body started to change. The raw, divine strength of an archangel—technically, the Devil—filled the tiny frame of Doctor Linda Martin’s form. 

Oh, how he missed the feeling. 

It felt like coming home.

But then the rest of Lucifer’s divine gifts came, and nothing could’ve been more foreign. Lucifer and Michael may have shared features, but their gifts were nothing alike. Desire flowed through his veins. Not only did the Devil know what people wanted, he _was_ their greatest desire. It was intoxicating to feel so... _wanted._

Then a new, even greater power flowed into him. 

Michael laughed as the Doctor’s form faded and the Lightbringer’s took shape. 

Shining white wings shot out behind him. The glee was all encompassing. They were perfect. How long had he looked upon his twin’s stunning feathers with longing? Now, they were his.

He was perfect, at last. 

No more teasing. No more name-calling. No more ‘Slope-Shoulder Michael.’ No more being broken. No more humiliation. Finally, everyone would love him. 

As he contemplated this, a memory from long ago sprung forth.

_“Come with us, Sammy!” It was Gabriel and Jophiel. With his wings tucked away, they thought he was Samael. He almost didn’t go, but the promise of acceptance was more than he could resist. He should’ve known better._

Michael blinked back the sting in his eyes, remembering how his siblings had looked down on him after learning who he was. 

_Amenadiel wore a triumphant sneer as Michael held his busted shoulder. Tears blurred his vision and his wing hurt, but there was no mistaking the self-righteous pride in the other angels’ eyes._

_“You really thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? You are not Samael, and you never will be.” The Eldest Angel’s expression was one of pure contempt._

_“Try passing yourself off as him, now,” Jophiel laughed._

This was the first time Michael had to hurt his angel in order to keep up pretenses. His sweet, innocent source didn’t deserve it. Michael remembered holding him and crying, saying over and over again that he had to. All because their ‘family’ wanted him to suffer.

Michael swallowed back the pain, and a bitter, vindictive chuckle slipped from his lips. He could be whoever he wanted. And being Lucifer could be fun.

The Doctor’s dress tore as the taller, muscled frame suddenly filled and stretched it. Oops. That... it should’ve been obvious. Michael laughed again. He looked ridiculous.

As his body settled, the newly minted Devil looked down at his source and sighed. He would need those clothes. 

_So eager to get me naked? You perv._

He glared. He wanted to yell at Lucifer to get out of his head, only to remember, he _was_ Lucifer. Right. Which meant endless puns and innuendos. Lovely.

Pushing the thought aside, he squeezed out of the ruined dress and helped himself to the suit. He wished he could be surprised when he got the trousers off. Lucifer wore no pants— _boxers,_ they were called _boxers_ —Stupid Lucifer, and his stupid accent. Michael-Lucifer... shook his head. Being his twin was mildly disorienting.

His new source groaned as he helped himself to the jacket and shirt. He really was a willful prick, he realized with a smirk. 

As he extracted the jacket, his phone fell from the pocket. Lucifer stooped to retrieve it, only to remember the screen was cracked. Shrugging, he left it.

“No,” the de-powered Devil at his feet moaned listlessly. 

“Hush, Devil, I’ve no interest in hurting you.” He scooped up the unconscious ruler of Hell. “You should know that by now.”

He took one more moment to admire his wings, before folding them close to his back. Then he started for the doorway leading beyond creation.

That’s when he heard the voices. 

It was quiet at first, which was probably why he hadn’t noticed right away. It started with the occasional stray prayer from true believers. Some, disturbingly enough, intentionally directed at the Devil. But most were merely _about_ him.

They called him evil incarnate, they—

No. _Michael_ took a breath. They weren’t about him. He wasn’t _really_ Lucifer. He was just borrowing him.

_Monster!_

_Evil!_

_Spare us from wickedness…_

Michael forced the words back. They weren’t meant for him. He was the _archangel Michael._ This was nothing for him to worry over.

He opened the door leading into the void and stepped through, eager to leave the voices behind along with creation. Prayers he heard as himself could never have prepared him for these. It was a rare thing to hear the call to ‘Saint Michael,’ and even when they came, they were almost always the exact same speech, beseeching him to save them from the Devil. 

Michael sighed as he stepped across the threshold, and his head grew quiet. He glanced down at his current source. He _almost_ felt bad for him, even if the squall of prayers were right.

_You’re evil._

He stilled. 

_You’re a monster._

No.

_You don’t care who you step on, so long as you win._

Prayers couldn’t reach him outside creation. Why were the voices still there? He turned back toward the doorway, shuddering. He was too close, perhaps? Yes, that had to be it. Eager to escape the accusations, he tightened his grip on his source, spread his wings, and launched upward.

_There is no escaping who you are or what you’ve done._

“Get out of my head!” He screamed.

_You hurt those closest to you, those you pretend to care about._

They weren’t talking about him, they were talking about _Lucifer._ What they said didn’t matter, they didn’t—

_Look at what you’re doing to Lucifer. He called you brother, and you hurt him._

No.

Nonono!

Michael landed hard with his stolen form and dropped the Devil. He clawed at his head. “Stop it! Get out of my head!” he shrieked as he collapsed.

_Monster._

What was happening? Why were they saying this? He wasn’t a monster. Not really. It was celestials who were vile.

_You chose to become one._

_Evil._

“I am not evil!” He roared, thrashing and pulling at his hair. “I’m not.”

_Tell that to your angel._

His breath stuck and his heart skipped a beat. His angel. There was no denying he had hurt him, but—

“I had to. It was the only way. If I didn’t, they would’ve destroyed me. I had to.” He was begging. He didn’t care.

_Evil._

Michael shut his eyes, and instantly regretted it. Lucifer’s memories flashed in his mind. Memories of them, from long ago. _Samael looked up at Michael as he bore down on him, sword in hand, a wicked snarl on his lips._

No. Please.

His own memories mingled with his twin’s, as the cacophony of confused recollections swallowed him whole.

And the voices in his head laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Trixie! She has a small role in this, but an important one.
> 
> Well, Doppel, you wanna be Lucifer? 😈
> 
> He’s not coping with this well.


	16. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of side story and a whole lot of Doppel.
> 
> Quick note for those of you losing track:  
> Doppel is now Lucifer, but he still wants to identify as Michael. He calls real Michael his angel. Possessive, much? He is currently referring to Lucifer as the source, since this is how he refers to anyone he’s imprinted on.
> 
> Maze is in Hell. She is with Astaroth, who is wearing the guise of Eve.
> 
> Everyone else is themself.

“You don’t need any of them. They never really appreciated you. Not Lucifer, Not Chloe, not Amenadiel, or Dan and Ella... not even Eve.”

Maze stared at Eve’s big brown eyes as she twined her fingers through the thick black hair cascading down around her naked body. Her cherry lips parted as her pink tongue licked along the upper in that very specific way that was all hers, and a pool of desire collected at the demon’s core.

They were in Abel’s Hell Loop, and Astaroth had taken it upon herself to don the face of the woman Maze wanted to share her life with.

The demon wearing Eve’s face stroked Maze’s cheek. “But I do,” she continued. “I know you. I understand. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” She kissed her. It was soft and sweet at first, then playful and teasing. Exactly like Eve. Maze had to hand it to her, Astaroth did her homework.

At first, she leaned into it, enjoying the illusion, almost able to convince herself of the ruse, but as Eve’s hands slid up her exposed side, heading for her chest, it suddenly felt wrong. It wasn’t Eve. It was Astaroth, play-acting to win her over. Pushing Astaroth off, she sat up to stare at her and all her stunning nakedness—at _Eve’s_ delicious, supple... Maze hated how easily she was letting herself get lost. This was Astaroth, and Astaroth only cared about herself. 

“Yeah, right. You’re just interested in me right now because I was up there, and you weren’t.”

Astaroth giggled as she fell back again, hair splaying out enticingly on either side. “Are you mad at me? Do you want to teach me a lesson?” she breathed seductively as she gazed upon her through hooded eyes, and damn, Maze wanted her. A smile curled her lips, and she reminded herself that this was what they were there for, anyway. 

Leaning forward, she held the selfish demon down, pinning her wrists into the grass as she straddled her. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was eyeing her like an exquisite meal meant for devouring. A similar look greeted her from those big beautiful eyes. From Eve’s eyes.

Abel fidgeted in his cage, catching their attention. He sat as far back as he could, body pressed against the bars, eyeing them with a look of horror that rivaled Amenadiel’s expression from that one night they caught Dan kissing his mother. 

“Okay, okay! I get it. Making me watch Mom like this? I get it, okay? Womanizing bad! I get it! Can we just get back to Cain killing me over and over?” He whimpered, and both demons laughed.

“Why didn’t we think of trying this sooner?” Maze chuckled before she kissed down Astaroth’s neck toward her supple heaving breasts, encouraged all the more by the man’s very audible sounds of disgust and horror. Eve’s voice moaned with unbridled pleasure.

“Please stop!”

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“Maze? What are you doing?”

Amenadiel’s voice was like an avalanche in a library, completely upsetting the mood and shattering the illusion. Astaroth stilled, the arch of her back dissipating as she collapsed into the grass with an exasperated huff. Abel gawked for only an instant before directing his pleas at the new arrival.

“Amenadiel! Buddy! Help a guy out, please? I’ll do anything! Make ‘em stop, please! Make ‘em stop!”

Mazikeen groaned. What was he doing back in Hell? Couldn’t he just leave her in peace? She turned around to see the angel staring disbelievingly at her. Great. He was judging her, wasn’t he? Fine. Maze knew exactly how to get under his skin, and if he was going to play the literally holier-than-thou card, she was game. 

“Wanna join us?” She purred, turning her attention back to the sexy little minx currently trapped in her grasp. Smiling lustfully his way, Astaroth shifted invitingly, exposing herself more effectively for him. Maze bent toward a left nipple, and—

“I’ve... no, I, _stop!”_ She heard him stumbling and turning back, she saw his face flush as he promptly turned away to stare at the Hell Loop’s trees like they were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

Both demons reveled as his feathers fluffed in distress.

“You sure?” Astaroth teased, biting her lip. “It’ll be fun.”

Amenadiel stiffened, and Maze watched him swallow several times. “I... that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then buzz off. I’m busy torturing Abel.” Maze growled, feeling her irritation surface again. 

“Such a busy bee,” Astaroth agreed languidly as she squirmed and writhed under her, and Maze went for it.

For a few fleeting seconds, the angel in their midst didn’t do, or say anything. But his presence was killing the mood. She couldn’t get into it. The fact that it made him uncomfortable was the only reason she didn’t stop, but then, after a deep breath, he turned to face them again. He coughed conspicuously and she turned to glare his way. He responded by squarely fixing his eyes on Maze’s face. And refusing to look anywhere else. “No. I’m here to take you home, Maze.”

Anger boiled up, and Mazikeen was on her feet in an instant, advancing on him. “I _am_ home. Get lost!”

***

He couldn’t tell whose memories were whose anymore as the images flashed across his mind’s eye and the voices taunted him. Michael’s? Lucifer’s? Their combined recollections flooded his mind. They had so many shared experiences. As brothers, as twins. He stumbled as they bombarded him, and he dropped into a fetal position.

Michael dragged Lucifer before God. With Lucifer cast out, he would finally be safe. 

Michael smiled encouragingly at his twin, pointing out, as if it were no big deal, that if mortals were to be given freewill, “why not us?” Lucifer had no clue he was being led astray.

Michael drove his sword into the rebel leader’s abdomen, sneering wickedly at the look of betrayal on his brother’s face.

_Wicked._

Michael watched passively as Lucifer fell, disinterested in his cry for help. 

Michael sat at his brother’s side, fingers gently stroking a gleaming feather as Samael looked at him quizzically, head tilting. “Why have you been acting so strange?” Fear clutched at Michael’s chest. Did he know? 

Samael was overcome by concern for his brother. Ever since his trip Beyond, Michael had changed. Samael wondered what he had seen out there to leave him so affected.

_You took his brother away from him._

“Shut up!” It wasn’t true. He was _protecting_ his angel. Samael was cruel, and he deserved everything that came his way.

Samael hit Michael in the gut, shouting at him, and the air left the Defender’s lungs with painful force.

When the Lightbringer came back from The Garden, their siblings judged him. They called him impure. He was corrupting the humans, and they, him. As Michael's knees buckled, it wasn’t him Samael saw. He saw himself falling to his knees. 

Michael looked up at him with desperate fear in his eyes. “You can’t blame me for this,” he gritted through clenched teeth. Samael pulled back in distress. What was he doing? Taking this out on _Michael?_ He was disgusted with himself, but when he looked at his twin, he still saw _himself,_ and it filled him with rage. Michael braced for another hit, but it never came. Samael spread his gleaming wings and flew away, fleeing from himself and what he had done. 

He used to make protecting his twin his first priority, and now, he was taking his anger out on him? Samael hated himself for it. He wanted to go back to how it used to be. He tried to figure out where everything went wrong, but he didn’t know.

_You turned him into the enemy. You did this to yourself._

As confirmation of this, his mind turned to earlier times.

“I’ve got you. It’s Okay.” The Lightbringer held the fearful archangel. 

Michael was sick with himself; with his weakness. “I can’t keep relying on you. I have to find a way to overcome this on my own.” 

Samael sighed and let go. He nodded and sat quietly at his side, placing an encouraging hand on his shoulder. It felt good to be supported, even if it meant he was pathetic.

He curled in on himself, cowering as he tried to process the countless fears bombarding him. Why him? Why was he different? None of the others could use their gifts on one another. Michael didn’t _want_ to be different. He didn’t _want_ their fears. If he was to continue being Michael, he had to find a way to push them out. To push _everyone_ out. Looking at Samael filled him with shame. His twin was strong. He cared. The others didn’t get it. They didn’t know how hard it was to deal with everyone’s fears. But if he was going to do this, he would make no exceptions. He closed his eyes, focusing on driving everything out, and when he opened them again, he fixed a glare on his twin.

“Get away from me. I don’t need you to protect me.” He pulled back, roughly pushing him aside.

Samael staggered to his feet, confused and upset. “Mi-Mi, I—” 

“It’s _Michael!_ Don’t call me that. I’m not a helpless fledgling, _Sammy!”_

Anguish lanced through Samael’s chest. 

Fear curled around Michael’s heart. He pushed the feelings out until at long last, he felt blissfully empty. 

_You had a chance to be accepted, and you drove him away._

Lucifer fell. 

Michael watched. 

Lucifer Burned. 

Michael watched.

_Evil._

_Look what you did to your family._

“Shut up! Shutupshutupshutup!” He clutched at the hair on his head and trembled.

Lucifer carved into Michael’s face, and seeing himself maimed like that filled him with twisted glee. He deserved this. He deserved to suffer for everything he had done. For hurting Chloe. Michael screamed in anguish, as the Devil tossed him down.

Michael felt lightheaded. He had been such a fool, coming to Earth. He knew what Lucifer was. He should have known this would happen. He should have known.

_You brought all of this on yourself._

“Please,” he sobbed. Being Lucifer was too much. He couldn’t do it. He was tired of being the wrong person. He wasn’t Lucifer. He was—

He didn’t know. He was lost. Who was he?

With this question, a faint memory from long ago blossomed forth.

He sat under a fruit bearing tree, the air rich with the sweetness of ripe citrus. A soft hand rested in his. He wasn’t Lucifer in this memory. He wasn’t Michael, either. He was... his _other_ self. The one he had forgotten about.

“If anything ever happened to you, I would...” He chuckled and looked down at their intertwined fingers. “I would probably lose my mind. I would make the ones responsible pay.” 

She sighed, smiling sweetly at him, and— 

Her face! he... he could see it. Clear as crystal. But he forgot what she looked like long ago. How? Was it because of... Lucifer?

“What good would that do?” his sister asked, smiling patiently at him, her grey eyes kind and thoughtful.

Lucifer knew his sister? His mind cracked. It wasn’t possible. She died before... before _all_ of it! She was gone, lost to the endless nothing beyond any and all realities.

But...

His sister stood behind a tall, thin, pale man with black robes and wild midnight hair. A raven perched upon his shoulder. It regarded him sharply. Eyes like black holes met the flaming eyes of the Devil. Dream shook his head at Lucifer. The girl behind Lord Shaper pulled back. She watched the Ruler of Hell wearily, one hand fisting into the black robes of the Endless as the two powerful beings argued about hope.

Lucifer _knew_ her. 

He trembled. He opened his eyes and looked over to the prone Devil. His source was still out, but... he _knew_ her! This changed everything. 

_Evil._

“Shut up,” he snapped again, clambering to his feet.

_She would hate what you’ve become._

A moment ago, he was ready to abandon the form of the Devil, but now? Now he had a reason to hold on. It was all he could think about as he took Lucifer to the wall. He did his best to ignore the voices. He clung to the image of his long lost sister from a bygone life, and a long gone reality. Her face clear in his mind, a lighthouse in the squall tormenting him. He held onto it for all he was worth.

Lucifer _knew_ her.

He landed gracefully by the wall and found the new chains he acquired for just this instance. He barely registered as Doctor Linda shouted accusations at him from where she sat, chained to the wall next to where he intended to keep the Devil. She clutched her child close and she attacked with the cutting words of an angry psychologist. 

Her words matched the voices in his head exactly, blending in with the cacophony. Her nephilim wailed, and a part of him wanted to console his tiny nephew, but he didn’t have time for that. He worked on autopilot as he fastened the chains into place on his source’s wrists and ankles. All the while, he clung to one thought. Lucifer could lead him to his real sister.

She wasn’t gone.

He needed to find her, he needed—

But what about his angel? 

He didn’t want to stay as Lucifer, that was certain. Glancing down, he chuckled coldly as his source began to stir.

“All this time, I thought you were a true adversary, but you’re just another lost soul, aren’t you?” he sneered, Lucifer’s silky accent falling naturally from his lips. He bent down to study the disoriented archangel, with his pretty shining wings, and he tisked. “You are insane. You know that?”

The source blinked at him, a glare trying to form, but he was still too out of it.

“You monster!” Doctor Linda spat. 

_Monster._

_She’s right, you’ve become one of them._

_You are the worst of them._

“What are you going to do? Steal his life? It won’t work.” The Doctor narrowed her eyes as she protectively secured her hold on Charlie. “It won’t make you happy.”

_You don’t deserve happiness._

“Shut up,” he growled, feeling a fire inside he never felt before, and the doctor scooted back in terror.

Lucifer stood, sparing one moment to observe his captured enemy; the source of his current form. His brother. Then he turned toward his doctor, and he offered a nasty grin. The voices screamed at him as she shut her eyes and looked away, trembling like any other mortal when faced with the Devil, but the volume of the accusations in his head were too much. He needed to get away. He needed quiet. He needed to think.

He needed his angel. He needed to be himself, and he didn’t want to be alone anymore. He was so confused, but... Lucifer knew his sister. Maybe with his angel back and these memories to guide him, he could finally find someone who would not reject him.

_You don’t really believe that, do you?_

Lucifer shuddered. Then, as much to distract himself as anything else, he spread his perfect, undamaged wings and left the emptiness. And after passing through the doorway, he left Earth behind, too. He was in such a rush, he nearly crashed into the raven flying in through the open window. 

Idiot bird. 

Flying as Lucifer was effortless. Slipping through reality was easy. This is what it was supposed to be like. The Lightbringer’s wings glowed in the blackness of space. Flawless. If only he could keep these when he became himself again. 

_Greedy._

With some effort, Lucifer pushed the accusations and memories down deep, to simmer in the background. In the calmness between galaxies, he searched for something he could hold onto. He found a soft warm light at his center. A spark. It rejoiced at his attention, eager to be explored, a hopeful fire deep within, and the innocent raw wonder of it beckoned. What was that? 

Music? The song was like an old friend, and before he knew it, the melody found life. The elements gathered from far and wide, drawn to the tune and the one who made it. Love poured into him as the essence of the star became more than an idea.

The spark grew, and he felt infinite love for it.

What a marvelous feeling. 

The power, the joy. Pure creation. He could do it! He could create a new star. The voices faded into nothing as he played with the energy. A new friend. And as he got to know it’s nature, he felt peace.

Lucifer considered his options. He could stay there forever... alone with his stars. Or he could follow through with his plan. Now that his angel knew the truth about creation, perhaps he would understand. He would come willingly. They could leave together to find his sister, and they could all be happy. The idea filled him with hope.

With this plan firmly in mind, he started to leave. The baby star faded with his parting, and his heart clenched. This would not do. He would not leave it alone to die away. He deliberated, until an obvious solution presented itself.

Smiling, the Lightbringer left the emptiness of deep space. He returned to his penthouse, the new would-be star condensed to travel-size and wrapped lovingly in a blanket of divinity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post. I was held up by Holiday duties. It will likely happen again. But here it is. 
> 
> Once again, disregard the raven. It is not important.😜


	17. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella has arrived!

Ella braced herself as she entered the church. “You got this, Ella,” she muttered as she crossed herself before the tabernacle. “Right? No big deal.” She dipped her fingers in the holy water. “Lucifer’s not a method actor. Mi-Mi...” Oh, God. She still had a hard time wrapping her head around it.

As she stood, paralyzed in her spot, Lucifer’s words came back to her. 

_“There wasn’t any car crash, Miss Lopez. Nothing of the sort. He was abducted by a changeling—a doppelgänger, if you will—and replaced.”_

Replaced.

Saint Michael had been replaced.

And either the Big Guy— _their cabrón of a Dad_ —didn’t know or didn’t care.

Ella wasn’t sure which alternative freaked her out more. Go figure: she found definitive proof of the divine, and with it, a legitimate reason to question her devotion. But all that aside, she had a job to do.

Taking a steadying breath, she marched down the aisle, looking for a priest to talk to. As she made her way, she spotted a woman exiting a confessional. Bingo. She covered the distance in half running quick strides. As she approached, Ella reminded herself to breathe. She was beyond furious, but losing her temper wouldn’t help.

She needed to be diplomatic.

Stopping outside the booth, she nodded once more, then she stepped in, closing the door behind her. “Ave, María Purisima,” she said out of habit as she knelt. “Father? You there?”

“Uh...Yes, my child. What troubles you?” came his awkward reply to her unusual opening.

As she sank onto her knees, Ella retrieved her phone. “This is gonna sound wild, but I’m trying to find my friend. I was told he’s here.”

“Your friend? Can you describe them for me?” His voice was skeptical... and guarded. As he spoke, she found what she was looking for; the selfie she took with him the night she was angel-sitting.

“I’ll do you one better. He looks like this.” She held up the phone to the lattice separating them, hoping he would be able to see the image clearly enough.

Judging from the gasp on the other end, he could. She saw a blur of movement, accompanied by scurrying. The door to his side opened, and she stood to meet him. Exiting the confessional, she was greeted by a befuddled elderly man in black robes.

“May I see the picture again, my child?” His voice warbled. His hands closed and opened several times, and his eyes darted about suspiciously. No one else was there.

Nodding, she handed the phone over. He stared long and hard, before looking up at her with wonder in his eyes. “Y... you _know_ our lost angel?”

Lost angel.

Ella wanted to cry. She wanted to go back in time a day or two... no, before that. She wanted to go back to before she met Pete. But she couldn’t. She wanted to crawl under a blanket and disappear. She wanted to bring Michael under there with her and hug him until the end of time. She wanted everything to be fine. She didn’t want to know that things like this could happen to one of God’s angels, or that Lucifer’s Pendejo Dad was God, and... but... This was her reality now. She blinked a few times and smiled unconvincingly.

“Sure do,” Ella laughed nervously, and the Father nearly dropped her phone when she held up her hands. “Matching mani pedis.” His mouth fell open and his eyes glazed over. “I’m here to take him back to his family,” she tried as she reclaimed her phone from his unresponsive hand.

He gaped at her hands longer than seemed right, before reanimating, to gaze upon her like she was a freakin’ unicorn. “Praise the Lord! I was so worried. By the grace of God, the others are not here, come quickly! This way, Miss—?”

“Just Ella.” 

He nodded. Then he led her to a secluded room, and unlocked a door in the back. Behind, there were stairs leading into a basement. As they made their way down, she considered his words. 

_“By the grace of God, the others are not here.”_

Were ‘they’ the ones the man on the phone referred to? Was it really by the grace of God that ‘they’ weren't around? As they descended, her guide filled in some of the blanks in the story. 

Michael popped up in a back alley in the middle of Frederick, Maryland. The sound of a ‘whoosh’ caught the attention of the Greene family kids. They tried to take him home, but the neighbor lady spotted his wings and stirred up commotion. Before they knew it, everyone was coming out of their holes to see what was going on. So they took him to their church, thinking he would be safe. But the other priests lost their senses at the sight of true divinity, and word spread quickly. Within the hour, every member of the cloth within driving distance was making their way over. They started fighting over to whom he should belong, and the best thing the Father could think to do was hide the frightened angel in a backroom, lock the door, and pray.

When he finished his narrative, he motioned down the hallway, pointing at a room two doors down on the right. He held up the keys by the one likely meant to open it. “Would you like a little time alone?” he asked.

She tried to voice her thanks, but all she managed was a jagged nod. The Father stepped aside and she made her way over. She swallowed and shook her head as her shaking hand tried to get the key in. When at last she succeeded, she needed another moment to compose herself, then she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Stepping in, she found herself in a bedroom of sorts. Okay, it was actually a laundry room converted into a bedroom. A full bed with a nightstand sat against the back wall. Shelves filled one side while the washer and dryer took up the other. A small window at the top of the back wall let in a bit of daylight from the courtyard.

Michael was on the bed, wings wrapped around himself, as he lay there, eyes closed, and clearly trembling. Ella gasped. She knew he had wings—which he had somehow hidden before—but actually seeing them was different.

“Woah,” She blurted, and at the sound of her voice, he straightened into a sitting position, his wings flaring open like a spooked cat puffing its tail to seem bigger. Ella was rendered speechless by the sight of them.

They were beautiful. 

The most beautiful things she’d ever seen. 

Long elegant feathers fanned out on each side. Coverts shimmered where the light hit, and the backlit primaries almost glowed. They were black like raven wings, and graceful like a swan’s. She followed the line from the shoulders to an elbow and what she could only describe as a wrist. Even in her awe, she found herself wondering about the anatomy. As she considered this, her eyes roamed over the feathers again, looking for clues to the underlying structure, and only then did she realize he had been hurt. Feathers were missing, and one wing was held lower than the other. It shook with effort trying to hold the pose.

Ella pulled her eyes away from the magnificent limbs to take the rest of him in, his shoulder and scar carrying new weight as she did so. He clutched a grey blanket and stared wide eyed at her. His breath caught, and his lower lip trembled. Ella’s heart ached and the sting of hot tears blurred her vision.

“Mi-Mi, it’s okay. No bad. You’re safe,” she tried, taking a faltering step closer and swallowing the painful lump in her throat. The hand clutching the blanket relaxed and he took a ragged breath. The wings settled too, the injured one hanging at an odd angle as it draped over the edge of the bed. 

“Miss Lopez Ella?” He self consciously pulled his wings back.

Ella stepped up. “Pretty wings,” she quickly reassured. “pretty angel, Mi-Mi. No bad, safe.” She felt like an idiot talking to him like this now that she knew who he was, but with his limited knowledge of human language, she didn’t know how else to go about it.

His hands holding the blanket lowered and he tilted his head. “Miss Lopez Ella safe?”

She smiled. Relief flooding in. “Ella safe. Mi-Mi safe.” She sat next to him on the bed, and he nodded nervously. Then his hand reached to grab at one of his wings. He snatched a feather and violently yanked it out with a trembling hand, a sharp expression flitting over his eyes. Nervous plucking? Great big tears welled up in her eyes as he brought the feather forward.

When he opened his hand to drop it, Ella protectively clasped her fingers around it, tenderly taking the feather.

“For me?” She gently took it from his hand as he watched her with wide confused eyes. She brushed it against her cheek, smiling appreciatively. It was warm and soft. So, _so_ soft. “Pretty feather,” she said. “Thank you.”

The angel in front of her furrowed his brow. “Pretty?” His wings fluffed, and Ella was suddenly glad she taught him that word. 

“Pretty,” she confirmed, her smile spreading. Then, tentatively, she reached out her hand toward the injured wing, pausing before touching it, she looked at him. His eyes darted between her hand and his wing in rapid succession, then the wing surged forward, and just like that, she had a handful of silky black feathers. Ella melted. So this is what Heaven felt like. No wonder people were losing their minds.

She stroked the wing, talking all the while, and making sure to repeat the reassurances that there was no bad, they were safe, and yes, the wing was very pretty. The wing leaned into her touch, and Ella wondered how she was ever gonna stop. But they obviously couldn’t stay, so after a while, she let go, put the feather in her purse, and took his hand.

She gently coaxed him from the room. The Father waited by the stairs, and he fell to his knees, praying at the sight of him. Michael eyed him with weary curiosity, and Ella paused. Up those stairs, the whole world was waiting. If what Lucifer told her was true—which, yeah, the guy never lied—the angel at her side was unaccustomed to being around so much activity. 

It would overstimulate him. 

Ella offered an encouraging smile, even as she freaked out internally. How was she gonna do this?

Then he said something to her, or tried to, in what she could only imagine was... did angels call their language Enochian? Whatever it was, it was musical, like the pitch was as important as phonemes for meaning. She was speechless. Again. Because angels really did sing... which, duh, Lucifer sang all the time, but—

Ella closed her eyes and took a breath. She needed to focus.

“The blessed language of Heaven,” The man at her side gasped. Ella sighed. He had a look on his face that would suit a drunkard better than a man of the cloth. What was wrong with this dude? She shook her head and shrugged, pushing the thought aside.

“Yeah, he kinda doesn’t know a lot of English.” She shrugged again.

“Yes, of course!” He clambered to his feet and Michael stiffened at her side, but when she squeezed his hand reassuringly, he calmed. “Do you know what happened to him?” The Father started up the stairs.

Ella looked nervously at Michael, still clutching the blanket, somehow seeming small in spite of his obvious height. Then an idea came to her. “Blanket.” She gestured at it, then pantomimed putting it over her head. He nodded and did as she asked. 

The Father, halfway up the stairs now, kept talking. “Was he injured fighting Lucifer, perhaps?”

Ella cringed.

“Lucifer?” Michael’s wings flapped with excitement as he looked around for his twin.

“No, no,” The Father reassured kindly. “No bad Lucifer,” Huh, judging from his phrasing, he must have been listening to Ella’s and his chat. But more importantly: ¡mierda! This was really gonna confuse Michael.

“No.” Michael’s jaw set. “Lucifer good.”

“No Lucifer here,” Ella attempted. 

She couldn’t see the look on the Father’s face, as he was unlocking the door, but she heard the amusement. “I see what you mean, poor angel has the words ‘good’ and ‘bad’ mixed up.”

“Yeah, actually—” Ella was cut off when the door opened, and the Father turned to face them, an air of patience about him.

“Lucifer bad,” he informed gravely.

“Lucifer good!” Michael insisted stubbornly. He actually stomped his foot to emphasize the point.

“Lucifer saved him!” Ella blurted, and the Father blinked in shock. “Yeah,” Ella pushed forward, seizing the opportunity. “He’s totally not actually evil, he _punishes_ evil.” Her eyes narrowed and she raised a finger. “There’s a difference.”

The Father considered this. “Was he not punished for rebelling?” He stepped through the doorway, and they continued to follow him up.

“Yeah, I guess he was. He was given the crappiest job of all, but that doesn’t make him evil. It just makes him a rebellious kid... right?”

“Lucifer good,” Michael insisted again. 

The Father rubbed his temples before sighing in defeat. “I suppose I will have to adjust some of the wording in my sermons, then.” And with that, he started to cross the room.

“Lucifer good,” Ella agreed, taking Michael’s hand and guiding him up the stairs, into the room, and out into the hallway.

It was relatively quiet, but the main part of the church was starting to fill with activity. As Michael stepped into the hallway, he pulled the blanket around his head more securely, and though it draped over his wings, it did less than too little to conceal them. A baby started to cry from the main room, and his wings flapped nervously, feathers puffing up. The blanket crumpled at his shoulders as the nervous feathered limbs fluttered.

Ella couldn’t take him out there like that. 

Even in a quaint churchy town like Fredrick... _especially_ in a town like Fredrick, this was a recipe for disaster. Ella considered her options as his wings stilled and the blanket fell to once again ineffectively conceal them.

He didn’t have wings when they first met, so maybe he had a way of hiding them?

Ella turned to him, her hand still in his as he squeezed nervously, his eyes glued to all the activity in the main room. He looked like a lost child. 

“Mi-Mi? Can you hide your wings?” She sighed. He didn’t know any of those words. He tilted his head at her. 

“Safe?” He tried.

“Yes. Safe.” Ella thought. Then, reclaiming her hand, she touched his wing, “Wing,” she held up two fingers, “wings.” 

He flapped happily, the gust from their movement tossing her hair. Wow. 

“Winks?”

Close enough.

She showed her hands. “Hands.” She pulled them into her sleeves so they were hidden. “Hands Hide.” she popped them out. “Hands no hide.”

He nodded.

“May I humbly inquire as to what you are trying to accomplish?” the Father asked, looking equal parts confused, awestruck, and amused.

Ella ignored him. She demonstrated hands hide a few more times, then she tried again. “Mi-Mi, wings hide?”

The crestfallen look on his face made her want to hug the living daylights out of him. Why was he—then she remembered. 

“Pretty wings,” she rushed to reassure. How could she get him to understand? It wasn’t safe to show off his wings. Safe! Of course! “Wings hide, wings SAFE!”

He looked toward the active part of the church and nodded. “Winks hide safe.” Then he shrugged his shoulders, and with a whoosh, they just— _disappeared!_ Into his back! What. The. HECK?!?!

“Amazing!” The priest clapped his hands, thrilled by this display. “Angels truly can hide among us! Blessed is He!”

“Y.. yeah.” Her fingers itches with a desire to get at the angel’s back and figure this out. But it would probably freak him out. Lucifer probably had wings, she decided. She could paw at his back when she got a chance. A short bark of laughter forced its way out as she realized she was planning to poke and prod at the actual Devil. Then a giggle slipped, as she imagined all the naughty things he would have to say about being poked and prodded.

“Winks safe,” Michael decided, and that snapped her back to the present.

And the fact that she had no idea how she was getting him home. She needed to think. She needed to find somewhere quiet and calm where he wouldn’t be overwhelmed so she could figure this mess out.

“Hey, uh... got any nice quiet cafes or a library or something within walking distance?” She was addressing the Father again, who was staring almost glassy eyed at Michael. Again.

“The Bookworm is just across the street and one block down.” He responded, his voice dreamy. 

“Bookworm?”

“Bookstore. It has a cafe built into it.”

That sounded perfect. Mind made up, she took the angel’s hand and led him out, grip tightening to reassure him as they exited the hallway. Michael may have closed his eyes. Which, okay, fine. She could be his seeing eye person. Why not? Ella Lopez, scientist, card counter, former speed racer, and seeing eye human for archangels. Yep. Made perfect sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another delayed post. Holiday and life. Some good, some bad.
> 
> Special thanks to Nedara for helping with the Spanish and the church stuff. 😉
> 
> I loved writing this chapter, I hope you enjoyed reading it.


	18. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🎵🎶Oh, where, oh, where can our Devil be?  
> Doppel took him away from me!🎵
> 
> Lucifer POV  
> Chloe looks for him  
> Michael and Ella in a bookshop

“Lucifer! Stop! Stop, stop, stop!”

He threw himself back with everything he had. The chains snapped taught with a sharp clang, and he felt his shoulder pop. The pain lanced through him, but he didn’t care.

“You’re hurting yourself, this isn’t helping!”

Of course, the good doctor was right. But it didn’t matter.

He staggered back onto his feet and charged at the wall. He was supposed to be the Devil! This pathetic wall shouldn’t have been nearly enough. The impact jolted him. He hit his shoulder, which forced it back into place. Dear Dad! That hurt! He screamed, both enraged and from the pain. His vision blurred and he fell, light headed as the endorphins flooded his system, leaving him drained of energy.

“No!” He shouted defiantly at his exhausted, busted body. “You can’t stop me! I have to...” a wave of nausea hit. He curled in, feeling miserable and woozy, but he couldn’t be bothered to humor this weakness.

“Lucifer?” The doctor’s voice was muffled, far away somehow. “You need to calm down, this isn’t helping.

Ballox to that. With a great deal of effort, he clambered to his feet again.

That bloody body snatcher was out there! After his twin. With his face, his power, and... 

“No,” he stated gruffly as he pulled back on the chains. He had to get free. He _had_ to. This was his mess, he had to fix it. 

“No, what? Lucifer?” 

Charlie whimpered in her arms, and she turned her focus to him. “It’s okay, baby, I know, it’s cold. I’m sorry.” She rubbed soothing circles on his back as she cradled him to her chest, rocking back and forth.

He tugged violently on the chains. The metal bit into his flesh and blood trickled from his wrists. He tugged with his legs. Same effect. He tried both, over and over again. But his body weakened. He was losing blood from the scrapes and abrasion he garnered while trying to reclaim his freedom, and it was wearing him down.

But the doppelgänger was still out there.

In desperation, he unfurled his wings. He tried to slice the metal. He didn’t care if he lost a hand in the process, but soft feathers connected with the metal and bent upon impact. He cried out again. That filthy thing stole everything from him. Then he got an idea. His devil wings had sharp hooks.

Lucifer sank into a sitting position, fighting the exhaustion.

“Are you finally settling down?” Linda’s voice was hopeful.

He searched for his Devil form. He closed his eyes, he concentrated. He listened to every hateful, accusing thing the voices said. He was evil. He was a monster. He deserved to suffer. But when he opened his eyes again, bruised flesh met them, and soft feathers rustled at his sides.

“No. No, no, no, no, no.”

It took his Devil form from him? Lucifer’s eyes filled with tears. He forced them back. He continued repeating that word: ‘no.’ He wasn’t stuck. He had to get free. But he was trapped, like any human... except with wings. Useless fluffy wings...

Wings could still mean flight.

Staggering up again, he spread the annoying appendages.

Linda must’ve realized his plan, because she started up again. “Lucifer, no, don’t do it, you’ll—”

He launched into the air. The chains snapped again, and his body felt like it was being stretched and bent backward. His wings crumpled mid-flight, and he fell. He crashed to the unforgiving floor hard. And everything faded out of focus. He was pretty sure Linda was shouting, but his head hurt, his ears were ringing, and he couldn’t think. His whole body screamed. 

He needed to get up, he had to—

The desperate fallen angel struggled to right himself, but as he tried to sit, a wave of vertigo hit, and he succumbed. His entire being felt beaten. And he had no strength left. He couldn’t give up, he had to—

Unconsciousness welcomed him and he fell into it.

***

Hanging from the side of a building by a rope looped around what looked like an oversized bird perch jutting out from an open window at the top of a random apartment complex had a way of giving one perspective. In Chloe’s case, the perspective was more of a question, ‘how was this her life?’ and the inevitable rant that followed, ‘because Lucifer was more of a damsel in distress than any kind of king she ever heard of. How did the Devil keep getting himself into so much trouble?’

Honestly, if there was a shapeshifter on the loose, he really should’ve employed the buddy system. Nevermind she wasn’t bringing a friend. In her case, no one was available. But Lucifer could’ve had the decency to ask her to come with, instead of flying off on his own. 

She pulled herself up, feet struggling to maintain a grip as she scaled the wall, and she huffed with equal parts exertion and frustration. Fine. She was just going to have to test him to make sure he was really him. Assuming he needed rescuing. He probably did. He’d _better_ need help after everything she was going through. 

Chloe reflected on her investigation. First, upon following the GPS to this building, she inquired about Lucifer. They hadn’t seen him. Then she proceeded to snoop around. No luck. When they caught her and had her leave, she almost gave up. That was until a shadow crossed over her, catching her attention. Glancing up, she saw a raven fly by, circle the building and land on the perch by an open window facing the alley. 

She almost dismissed it, except the tracker said he was in there, and, well... wings. Right? So she made up her mind to get up there. Problem was, the fire escapes only went as high as the residences in use. Whatever was up there was unlisted and supposedly unused. Perfect place to hide a clueless Devil. So one quick trip to buy rope later, and she was on her way up. Sure, people stared, but she just shouted that she was a cop, and shrugging, they moved on.

As her hand caught the perch, next to where the rope was looped around it, she hefted herself up onto it, and sighed. If what Lucifer said was true, the changeling stole his brother’s powers. Ergo, Lucifer without powers would be the real one. But what if it never imprinted? She would be getting paranoid over nothing. Was it weird that making sure he was really him didn’t seem like such an outlandish notion to her? Fake Lucifers were pretty standard.

As she pulled herself into the room, she was immediately struck by how cluttered it was. It almost looked as though the occupant had gone dumpster diving every day for a year and brought all the spoils to this old, walled-off, abandoned studio. 

Unfortunately, the next thing she noticed was that there was no Devil. 

Great.

Easing off the window sill, she began her search, and after rummaging long enough to feel foolish, she finally saw it. Lucifer’s phone; her only lead to finding him. Frustrated, she bent to pick it up, and that’s when she noticed it was cracked. 

Chloe tried to unlock it, but while the screen came on, it went haywire when she attempted to utilize the touch commands. So, it still sent out a signal, but it was trash. Chloe sat heavily into a threadbare couch, her ire mounting. Was that why he didn’t answer her calls? Had she really gone through all this trouble over a busted phone?

No. Chloe took a deep, calming breath.

There was still an evil doppelgänger on the loose. And her Devil was still missing, looking for his twin, who was less than capable of handling the world at large. So, maybe she followed a dead lead, that didn’t—

A maroon garment caught her eye. Standing, she made her way over to a rickety end table, and picked the dress up from where it lay draped over the corner. It looked familiar. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a full set of clothes, complete with nursing bra and stylish heeled shoes. These were Linda’s. A chill crawled up her spine and alarm bells sounded in her head.

“Linda?” She called out.

Nothing.

“Lucifer?”

Still no reply. 

Of course there wasn’t. She could see plainly that they weren’t there. But then again... Chloe started rummaging with renewed vigor, looking for clues. After a good twenty minutes, her search brought her to what looked like a linen cabinet. For the sake of being thorough, she opened it.

Chloe jumped back in alarm at the unexpected sight of... of... _nothing?_ And not ‘nothing,’ like an empty wall of shelves. That would’ve been something. There was nothing there. No wall. No opening. Nothing.

Tentatively, she reached her hand in, and bitter coldness enveloped it. But nothing happened. Right. Chloe turned back to look at the studio. If that place was as empty as it looked, she would need a trail of breadcrumbs. Her eyes scanned the mess until they landed on the couch.Mind made up, she headed over to it, knelt, whipped out her Swiss army, and cut into the fabric. 

She tugged and ripped and cut until she was able to get a good handful of foam. Then, with a sharp tug, she yanked it out. She took a moment to catch her breath, wiped the sweat from her brow, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she stepped through, holding onto the wall in case she was greeted with a drop off. 

Her foot hit solid ground, and she continued until the studio faded from sight. The cold hit her instantly, but at least there didn’t seem to be a breeze. Or anything else, for that matter. She shivered as she looked around. There had to be _something._ If Lucifer or Linda were taken here, some kind of sign would signify this. But before going anywhere, she ripped a piece of foam and set it so it was half in and half out of the door. As she knelt, she spotted a bit of dirt, and closer inspection revealed a faint foot print.

Chloe studied it more closely. With as much absence of things as this crazy weird place had, this meant something. Chloe set another ripped chunk by the dirt. Then she followed the trajectory, shivering and studying the floor until she spotted another something small. She set another chunk down. Sure enough, it formed a straight line.

Chloe stood and looked into the distance.

“Hold on, Lucifer. I’m on my way.” 

***

Michael stared at the opened page of the book. 

He had been wandering the aisles of books with wide eyed curiosity for the last ten minutes, occasionally glancing nervously back to make sure Ella was still there. The place was mostly empty, with just one other customer, and while at first, he had been too overwhelmed, eventually his curiosity won out, and he proceeded to explore. 

Ella walked with him, helping him select a couple picture books to buy, then she sat back to think while he continued to browse. This was the first book he stopped to admire on his own.

Curious, Ella stood up from the table where their purchased jellybeans and books sat, and she approached to get a better look. It was an art history book, opened up for display. The revealed page featured one of the famous paintings of Saint Michael defeating the Devil. 

Woah. Ella staggered. 

The real Michael knew nothing of this, she realized, and she mentally thanked... someone-but-definitely-not-the-Big-Guy that the depictions didn’t resemble either him or his twin. The real angel reached a hand out to trace the page, his fingers brushing on the wings in the picture. He looked at her and smiled that open, innocent smile of his.

“Angel?” he tried.

Ella sighed. “Yes. Angel. Good job!” She wanted to steer him away from the book, but as she linked her arm in his, he moved his hand to the painting of the Devil under the archangel’s feet.

“What?”

Ella snorted. Their portrayal of Lucifer was so off, he didn’t even resemble what he actually was—an angel. Like Michael. 

“Oh, that? It’s nothing.” She started to pull him away, but his feet were planted to the spot. She tried again. “No things here, let’s go eat some more jelly b—”

It was then that the ‘helpful’ desk clerk opted to chime in, stepping up with a bright smile on her face. “I would hardly call it nothing. That’s the famous painting: ‘Saint Michael Vanquishing Satan’ by Raphael.” The woman in question had a neat bun and sharp eyes behind thick rimmed glasses, and judging from the way her back straightened, she was rather proud of her knowledge.

“He doesn’t speak English!” Ella rushed to say before the woman could do more damage, but from the look of Michael’s face, it was too late. 

“Michael?” He pointed at himself, then touched the angel. Then, brow furrowing, he touched the defeated Devil “Raphael?” He was clearly upset by this, but the woman, oblivious, plowed ahead.

“No, no, that’s _Lucifer,_ there.” She pointed next to him at the picture.

***

Oblivion was interrupted by a hand stroking his cheek.

It felt nice.

As Lucifer grew more lucid, the pain registered, and a small hopeless whimper slipped out.

“Hey, it’s Okay, Lucifer. I’m here,” The Detective’s voice filled his ears like a balm to his broken soul. Too good to be true

Still too out of it to really process anything, he heard Doctor Linda’s voice. Then the Detective’s again. They were talking about him. Her hand left his cheek, and the pain amplified with her absence. The loneliness crashed in around him, and he almost lost himself again, but then she was talking again. She was still there. He tried to focus.

“...back in the room, there’s gotta be something.” She was close. He reached a hand toward the sound.

The good doctor replied, something about screw drivers and power tools. He didn’t even have it in him to quip about it.

“Found your dress. Doesn’t look like the doppelgänger ever threw anything out,” the Detective replied. Lucifer opened his eyes and blinked. Emptiness met him. Then Chloe’s face was looming over him, her golden locks falling toward him, and a worried look in her eyes.

“D’ec’if?” He reached a hand toward her and she clasped it in both of hers. A tear fell from her eye to land on his cheek.

“You idiot, why did you do this to yourself?” One hand left his to stroke his hair. He leaned into it. She carded her fingers through his locks and another tear hit him, on the forehead. He should make a comment about her getting him wet, right?

“S’ ‘kay, m’ fine, immor’al, you...” He trailed off, too tired to finish, and his eyes closed again. It hurt to talk. It hurt existing.

Doctor Linda said something again. Blood loss, cold, injuries?

“Will he be okay while I go back?”

Silence. The doctor was thinking. “Probably.”

Something draped over him, it covered him rather ineffectively, but it was better than nothing—if only for the placebo illusion of warmth. 

Then he heard the Detective standing, and muttering, “Did it have to take his boxers?”

Linda laughed. “You honestly think Lucifer was even wearing any?” 

“Cramps m’ style,” He confirmed. “Don’ li’e th’ view?” He wanted to say more, something about his being the mona Lisa of cocks, but it was just... to much effort, so he settled on a tired smirk instead.

As he willed his eyes open, he was graced with a glorious eye roll from his Detective. Then she knelt, and her lips met his. It was better than drugs for killing the pain. He tried to hold onto it as long as he could, but far too soon, she pulled back and she was leaving. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Her absence was crippling. Lucifer allowed himself to wallow. He was a fool. This was his own fault. He should’ve known better. The creature was the same person he thought to be Michael all that time. He knew how crafty and manipulative it could be. He never should’ve let his guard down. The only comfort he had was knowing Chloe found him. She was smart. She would know what to do. Assuming she had even been real.

Timelessness took him, the occasional mewling from the infant and the doctor’s soothing reassurances creating the soundtrack for his misery until eventually, the little parasite fell silent, and with it, Linda. He lost sense of himself as he drifted between wakefulness and sleep. All the while, his thoughts lingered on the mess he’d made and the voices in his head laughed at him. A hiccuping sob broke free, catching the doctor’s attention.

“Are you awake?” Her voice overwhelmed the silence like a sledge hammer to butter. Bloody Hell, he’d forgotten how maddening the silence could be.

“Mnf,” he grunted.

“Good, because I think we need to talk.”

Bloody Hell, did she intend to hold a session while they waited?

“How are you feeling?”

Lucifer snorted. He was literally a captive audience. But even therapy was ideal compared with the void.

“Broken,” he confessed bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delays. Life happened. But I will be getting back to weekly posts. And I’ve finished the first draft. So, yay!
> 
> This chapter is very whump and angst heavy, but Chloe is there to save the day. 🦸♀️
> 
> Poor Mi-Mi is about to learn the truth about Lucifer’s fall (next chapter).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the read. Thanks for being patient. ❤️


	19. Shnookerdookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael learns about Lucifer  
> No one listens to Linda

“... _Lucifer_ ...” The mortal’s finger indicated the creature in the image being abused by the ‘Michael’ figure. 

Michael didn’t need to know the rest of her words to pick up on the meaning. His world tilted, and Miss Lopez Ella rushed to support him.

A fear of rejection.

Samael was afraid of rejection.

The strange mortal who had revealed this truth to him stopped smiling, her expression shifting to concern as he collapsed. She, and Miss Lopez Ella exchanged words he didn’t know, then someone helped him back to the chair by the glass wall with the view of the world beyond. It had gotten dark out there, now. Dark and quiet. He wanted to be grateful for the help, and for the quiet, but his heart was hammering, he felt like he was choking, and he couldn’t breath. Shaking and gasping, he struggled not to fall onto the floor.

 _Samael_ was the one who had been rejected? Attacked by the creature who would never have been able to reach him had it not been for Michael’s failure to protect his family? What else had it done while pretending to be Michael? What else did he not know about? 

All this time, he thought it was him Samael was fearful for... but... were they both cast aside by their family?

If the _Lightbringer_ wasn’t good enough, what hope was there for him? And... What if Father preferred the creature to him? The creature got stuff done. Bad things, but what if that’s what had been wanted of it? He _knew_ Father allowed Michael to be replaced. Did Father want Samael to suffer, as well? What if his family was angry that he was back? Would they hurt him? Hurt Sammy?

A pain built in his chest and a wrongness flooded his body. He felt sick. It was too much, and his mind rebelled. Emptiness closed in around him. Michael heard a familiar voice— _his_ voice, from the lips of the creature.

_“You see now? Do you see how little you know? You don’t belong here—”_

A steady hand supported him from behind and Miss Lopez Ella’s voice cut into the madness with a familiar word. 

“Safe.”

Safe. He was safe? 

The creature’s voice in his head was snuffed out by her reassurance.

He tried to look at her, but the bright lights overhead were too much. Then the blanket he had brought with was heaved over his head and he clung to it. 

“Safe, Mi-Mi safe.” He latched onto that notion as she kept repeating the word. A soothing hand slid calmingly up and down one arm in a near embrace as she slipped under the blanket to be with him.

“Safe?” he rasped weakly.

“Yes. Safe.” 

He felt strangely small, but her presence was comforting. He told himself to calm down. Not to jump to conclusions. He took a stuttering breath. Then another.

 _“Guud,”_ Miss Lopez Ella encouraged. _“Breeth.”_ He didn’t know this word, but then she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Ah, he understood this. He matched his breathing to hers and she slid into a seat across the small table from him to take both his hands in this small safe world she made for him with the blanket. She met his gaze, eye to eye. She squeezed his hands and together, they breathed. 

As he calmed down he realized tears were falling from her eyes. His, too. But it struck him as strange that she would be sad for him. Was it because she knew what the creature had done to Samael? If the mortals made art to celebrate ‘Michael’ hurting Lucifer, it was safe to assume this was common knowledge, and that his twin was hated. Michael was under no illusions as to why that would be. The creature liked to lie. 

The creature hurt him. Then it told everyone to hate him.

Miss Lopez Ella slid the colorful sweets over to him on the table, and she smiled. _‘Jellee Beenz,’_ they were called. Michael accepted them, chewing on his thoughts as he nibbled. 

“Lucifer not safe,” he finally tried. The creature hurt his twin before, it would do it again.

“Lucifer not safe?” she queried in reply.

He had to find a way to explain that he needed her to show him how to get back. But he didn’t have the words. All he had was ‘bed,’ ‘safe,’ ‘banket,’ ‘cowch,’—

Miss Lopez Ella suddenly became excited, and she retrieved a small rectangle shaped thing from a compartment in her garments. It lit up as she poked it. He watched as she worked, and then it was thrusted his way. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the abrupt brightness, he realized it was a view from above. She touched a spot.

“Mi-Mi, Ella.” She smiled, then she did something on the thing that made it look like it was flying higher, then it came in close again. She touched a spot again. “Lucifer.”

Michael stared. Was she charting a flight path for him so they could get back? Hope, almost stronger than he could bare, bubbled up.

“Lucifer?” He pointed at the rectangle.

“Yes.”

***

Chloe stood before the wall, crowbar in hand. The sweat on her brow was like ice in the frigid cold. Her shaking numb hands were blistered, and her arms ached.

“Really Detective, you oughta let me have a go at it,” Lucifer pestered, and she shot him a warning look. He was in no condition to try anything. His wounds finally stopped bleeding, and his eyes struggled to stay focused. 

“Or perhaps if we try working on mine together? Then maybe we could get Lucifer’s as a team?” Linda offered with a helpless shrug. Something in the tone of her voice suggested she knew it was useless. 

Useless. 

The crowbar was useless. Chloe felt useless.

She wanted to scream. Everything she tried so far was a bust. Back in the studio, she had left a message with Dan, telling him to get a lock picking kit, but, of _course_ he didn’t answer. So she had grabbed everything she could find that might work, and headed back in to try.

Falling to her knees in exhaustion and frustration, she considered going back and trying to call again, but that took so much time... or... she was pretty _sure_ it did. Whatever. Time was weird there, but it... whatever. She needed to get them free before the thing could come back. But everything she had tried had proven ineffective. Which, well, of course it did. The doppelgänger had been able to hold Michael for... _forever!_ What was Chloe Plain Jane Decker going to be able to do?

“Detective! Please, don’t worry yourself over me,” Lucifer implored. He started to stand on shaking legs, clutching her jacket to himself, more out of politeness than modesty, and she snapped.

“Why not?” She snarled.

The battered angel before her stilled, wings drooping and confusion twisting his features. It broke her heart.

“Why shouldn’t I worry over you? In what way are you any less worthy of people caring about you than anyone else?” She stood, leaving the crowbar where she dropped it.

“Detective, I’m—”

“Only the best thing that ever happened to me? Only the man who lights up my life? My Lightbringer. I’m so sick with anger at everyone who has ever made you feel like you aren’t worth worrying over.” She came up to him and grabbed his shackled wrist, turned his palm upward to stroke it soothingly. A tear landed on his finger. She was crying. She shook her head, trying to make the tears behave.

Lucifer brought his other hand to her, the chain clinked as he moved to encircle her. “I’m sorry. You deserve better than this,” he soothed.

“It’s not fair,” she sniffed, her hand finding the hard metal. “That monster just keeps hurting you, and all you care about is how it’s affecting me.” 

Wings wrapped around her, soft and light.

“I just wish these chains could just, I don’t know, unlock themselves, like they do for you.”

“Perhaps they just don’t like being asked they way you’ve been going about it. Crowbar play isn’t for everyone, you know,” he quipped.

Chloe sighed and pulled back. She shook her head and tried to smile. “Right. My mistake. Lock? Would you please open for me?” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. “I would really appreciate—”

Click!

Chloe stopped, her breath catching. She felt Lucifer stiffen at her side. Did it just—? Both the Devil and his miracle looked down at the shackle in her hand, and sure enough, it was loose. 

“I do believe you got your wish,” Lucifer breathed softly, as if he were afraid speaking too loudly might undo the spell.

“But... how?”

Charlie fussed in Linda’s embrace, catching their attention. Turning, they saw the doctor nodding slowly, like she was figuring something out. “Uh-huh,” she commented ambiguously.

“Ah, right... did you, perhaps inherit my ability to manipulate locks?”

Chloe’s head was reeling. Did she? She had only been able to mojo _him_ before, why would it work for locks? “But... I don’t get it? How”

“Who cares how?” Lucifer elated. 

Right. He was right. She could worry about how later. As she went to work, Linda started picking her partner’s brain. Chloe wasn’t paying much attention, as her mind was more on the locks, and somehow getting the rest to comply.

 _‘Come on, lock, please?’_ Chloe willed. Nothing happened. Hmm.

As she mentally argued with an inanimate object, Linda and Lucifer debated the similarities between unlocking things and using his mojo.

“They’re the same bloody thing. People, locks, cars, things just open for me,” he explained.

Okay, maybe if she desired the lock? 

_‘You know you want it. You want to open for me? Yeah?’_

Click!

Holy cow! It worked?!

“You’re the only one who was vulnerable to her, though. That makes no sense, Lucifer. There has to be more to it,” Linda reasoned as Chloe knelt at his right foot. While she concentrated on the lock around his ankle, the Devil and his therapist continued their conversation. Lucifer insisted that Chloe had inherited his power to unlock things, and Linda was adamant there was more to it.

_‘You know you want it. You want to open for me, yeah?’_

‘Click!’ 

Chloe grinned, she was getting the hang of it. Only one left. She moved over to his other foot,

 _‘Okay, lock, let’s mojo you, next,’_ Chloe thought. 

Linda prompted Lucifer about self actualization, and how much influence he really had on things. Naturally, Lucifer brushed her prompt aside by saying, “I influence things all the time, what do you think my mojo is?” 

_‘Hello, darling,’_ Chloe suppressed a giggle when she realized her inner voice had slid into mimicking Lucifer’s. She concentrated on the lock, a serge of hope driving her onward. As she focused, Linda continued to attempt reason, but Lucifer wouldn’t hear it. 

Apparently, “The Detective always finds a way to do what needs doing,” was enough explanation. 

_‘Come on, you lovely little lock, let’s open you up, shall we?’_

Click!

 _‘good lock.’_

Chloe stood triumphantly, his removed shackles in hand.

“My hero,” Lucifer gushed. 

“Very funny,” she started to retort, but then his lips were on hers and his unclothed body pressed into her. Chloe lost herself instantly. He enfolded her in his arms, his bare chest against her and his—

 _‘Woah! Nope! That’s enough of that,’_ she chastised herself. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut and pulled back. This was _not_ the time for... for _that!_ But he was still in front of her, and so, _so_ naked, with only her jacket covering—

“I’m just saying it doesn’t fit the assumptions we made,” Linda remarked, putting a stop to the mood, and sparing Chloe from the thought spiral that nearly swept her away. Lucifer huffed as he let go, and Chloe’s jacket fell, forgotten at his feet. Chloe felt herself flush. He needed clothes. This was distracting.

 _Really_ distractingly.

“We’ve entered a realm of pure concept, Doctor.” Lucifer countered. His posture curled in, the subject change sapping him of what little strength he had. Remembering the shape he was in, Chloe supported him as he sank into a sitting position. She resisted the urge to fret, and headed over to Linda. 

“Nothing in here is meant to make sense. I hardly think it matters, so long as it works,” he continued. Linda nodded as she extended her free wrist, the one not supporting Charlie. Chloe started her little mental speech, encouraging it to come undone.

 _‘Hello, my pretty little lock, how’s about you open up for me?’_ Nothing happened. Okay, she needed to try harder. She needed to focus.

“Pure concept?” Linda demanded, her head tilting. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 _‘Come on little lock, you can do it,’_ Chloe willed. Still nothing.

“It means she can do what she wants, it seems,” Lucifer grumbled unhelpfully. Chloe was starting to have doubts. The lock was being incredibly unhelpful.

 _‘You know you want to—’_ Chloe stopped, frustrated.

“It’s not working,” she exasperated. Both Lucifer and Linda looked at her in dismay.

“Beg pardon?” Her battered Devil raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t get Linda’s to open.”

***

Ella tried not to scream. She knew it freaked her transport out. He even dropped her once. His grip tightened, obviously just as worried about doing that again as she was. He flinched and slowed. 

Traveling via angel express, she decided, would probably be more fun with an angel who a) knew where he was going without having to look at her phone constantly, and b) didn’t panic every time she did. But, hey. So far, she survived—because apparently he can teleport to catch her. But... yikes.

His grip loosened as she stopped screaming from their dive.

He hovered on a... a what? Were thermals strong enough to support an angel ferrying a freaked out scientist? Or was this angel science, like everything else with his wings? Angel wings were a new uncharted field of study she couldn’t wait to explore, assuming she lived long enough to do so.

“Lucifer!” he called, and she handed him the phone with a shaking hand. He scrutinized it, comparing their current location with where they needed to be, then he gave it back, tightened his grip, and they were moving again.

The sensation of moving rapidly made her koala to him all the more tightly, and as adrenaline played around in her gut like a hyper toddler, she suppressed yet another scream. A squeak managed to slip out, right along with the tears from her tightly shut eyes. She wondered if they were teleporting when they flew, but because she couldn’t look, well...

Woah! That was a thought. Actual reality bending teleportation? Were they slipping through the fabric of spacetime, were they—

“Lucifer!”

She opened her eyes, expecting him to reach for her phones but when he didn’t she glanced down and—

“Holy Shnookerdookies! We’re back?”

LUX stood below them, silhouetted against the setting sun, off to the side enough she could read the lit up sign. She turned to look at Michael again, and a mix of joy and fear kept skipping across his face. Then she remembered, he wasn’t used to any of this. Being outside, even high up and away from most of everything, it was probably hard for him. 

For a moment, she forgot she was hundreds of feet in the air and all she wanted to do was reassure him, but then they tilted, and instantly they rocketed toward the building.

Ella used to think she liked adrenaline rushes, that there was nothing she couldn’t handle. Ella was reevaluating what she felt she could take. They banked and swooped in, then he landed on the balcony, broken glass scattered all around.

They were back.

She did it. She found him and got him back safely, she... she _flew_ in the arms of an actual—no THE actual archangel Michael. Eat your heart out, Sarah McLachlan. He continued to hold her as she clung to him until, heart racing and legs shaking, she extracted herself. The rush left her weak in the knees, but he held on, offering a gentle smile. It was bright enough, she almost missed the way his injured wing quivered. Because flying with it hurt. Probably a lot.

“Miss Lopez Ella safe.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. We’re safe. Mi-Mi, safe. We did it, we...” Her voice warbled and her affirmations dissolved into laughter. Because wow! What a rush. And because she was clinging to a real angel, standing on the balcony of the actual Devil. 

Speaking of, where was he?

As if on cue, Lucifer appeared, rounding a corner to stare wide eyed at them. He was a mess. Disheveled hair, puffy eyes and red nose, and shirt partially untucked. Ella’s heart ached for him. Michael straightened at the sight of his twin, and almost as if pulled by gravity, he stepped toward him.

“Mi-Mi!” Lucifer exclaimed, moving to close the distance, but then, the angel stopped abruptly, pulling back in alarm. 

His midnight wings fanned out, and his good arm suddenly grabbed Ella by the wrist to guide her behind him. 

What?

As she stepped back, his stance shifted into something defensive and a low growl slipped out.

“Not Lucifer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theories away!  
> How did Chloe do that?  
> ...  
> You gotta wait till the second to last chapter for any kind of explanation... _but_ I would really love to hear your theories.
> 
> Also... how did Mi-Mi know? That’s for next chapter.


	20. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh, it’s all coming together!

“Loss is a feeling that cuts deep and settles in,” Astaroth purred. “You think it’s gone, but it’s really just waiting.” A phony sympathetic smile dimpled her pretty cheeks. “Then when you least expect it, something small makes you remember, and the feeling is there again, taking your breath away,” she concluded as she stroked the weeping damned soul’s hair. Mazikeen couldn’t help rolling her eyes.

Every demon worth their salt knew that. 

It was torture 101. 

What demons _didn’t_ know, was how to cope with it, themselves. Mazikeen was no exception.

“It’s so beautiful.” Her companion giggled, as the woman’s soul wept, clutching the lifeless form of her dead lover. It was a pretty picture, the heartbroken lover mourning her stolen happiness while Astaroth offered false comfort. Tragic and lovely. Maze hated how beautiful it was. 

She never used to question these things. But now, with the emptiness inside her, she had to wonder. Why was beauty in league with sorrow? Her pain didn’t deserve to be pretty. It felt hideous. It should’ve been monstrous, but it was always the most glorious memories that cut deepest. 

She wasn’t stupid enough to voice these thoughts out loud, of course. And she wasn’t dumb enough to think Astaroth’s words were directed at the human soul, either.

“Shut up, Astaroth.” She snarled. “This is between me and Daddy’s Boy, over there.” She jabbed the air over her shoulder with her thumb, indicating Amenadiel.

He had been following her for days, trying everything he could think of to ‘reason’ with her, and they had gotten into more than a few fights over it, too. He was still sporting a busted lip from their last go. Yet he was still there, tormenting her by reminding her of what she couldn’t have. Over and over. It pissed her off.

The angel sighed. “Maze, please. You don’t need to stay here, you don’t _have_ to be alone. We can go home.” 

Her eye twitched and Astaroth cackled. “She’s _not_ alone, silly boy, and she’s already home. Unless you’re suggesting demons are free to frolic topside, now?”

Amenadiel’s wings spread in a menacing display. “I am not talking to you, this is between—”

“Me and myself,” Maze snapped. Her new blades flicked up as she took a step toward him. “Buzz off. I’m sick of you following me like some stupid lost puppy. Just go back to your happy little family and leave me alone!” She was shouting by the time she finished, her fists clenching her blades so hard they shook.

Amenadiel pulled back. “They’re your family, too, Maze.” She knew he meant what he said, but that just pissed her off more.

Because it wasn’t true.

She didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong with Linda, or Chloe, Lucifer... _Eve…_ Even Lilith didn’t want her. Her mother left her in Hell, because demons had no souls. Demons could never be happy on Earth. Soulless monsters belonged in a place full of suffering, where they could delight in tormenting others.

Trying to pretend otherwise only led to her getting hurt. She was done with all of that.

Letting lose a primal roar, she threw herself at the well meaning idiot in front of her. 

“Liar,” she shrieked. 

She bore down on him, intent of turning him into angelic Swiss cheese. Amenadiel stood still. Empathy and compassion, the two things most likely to get one in trouble in Hell, radiated from him. He smiled, and her trajectory shifted. It wasn’t much. Just enough that the blades fell on either side of him.

She collapsed into him and dropped the weapons so she could pound on his chest. He brought his arms up and wrapped them around her. There was no malice. No ulterior motive, no hunger. He was just there.

For her.

Mazikeen continued to shout at him that he was a liar, that his affection wasn’t real. She was a demon. She had no soul to cherish. And for that, everyone always left. She belonged in Hell, with Astaroth, delighting in the pain of others. She—

She was crying.

“Oh, please,” Astaroth’s voice cut. “This is pathetic. You had all the control, and now that you’re finally ready to give him what he has coming to him, you, what? Turn into a sniveling babe? You can’t be serious. Demons don’t let pain stop them from taking what they want.” Her words were like a salt coated knife.

Mazikeen stilled. She blinked back the tears and felt herself grow rigid and cold, all the malice she wanted to feel for Amenadiel turning toward her former playmate. “No, we don’t.” 

“We?” Astaroth mocked, a wicked chuckle slipping out. “Are you counting yourself a demon?” Maze turned, the angel’s arms releasing her so she could face the insult. Astaroth stared back, a condescending leer about her. “Then act like it, Take what’s yours,” she challenged, waving her hands about. “Take what you want.” Then she grinned, a patronizing smirk leaping from her very being. “Assuming you even know what that is. Are you a demon, Mazikeen?”

“I’m every bit as much a demon as you.” she shouted, her fisted hands lifting, ready to strike. 

“Then act like it.”

“Shut up.” She advanced, while the demon who had been pretending to care stood her ground, completely unthreatened. As she approached, Astaroth sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I am standing here, offering you all that Hell has to give. Is this not enough for you, Mazikeen?” She motioned around at the Hell Loop’s illusions. At the trees, the grass, and the suffering woman. At herself. All of it was fake. Everything Hell had to offer was a lie. A falsehood. And suddenly she found herself wondering what she was doing, running around with Astaroth when she could have something real.

Linda’s face flashed across her mind. Baby Charlie. Even Lopez. _And Trixie._ Eve left. Her Mom abandoned her. Lucifer was an ass... but it didn’t mean that what she had up there wasn’t real.

Even without a soul.

She had found and built something real. And she wanted it back.

“No. No it isn’t.”

Amenadiel placed a hand on her shoulder “Let's go home, Maze. Your family is waiting for you.” Family. She started to laugh... or cry. She wasn’t sure which. It didn’t matter. And Astaroth, eyeing her like she just might be the biggest idiot Hell had ever coughed up, mattered even less.

“Right.” Maze started toward the exit of the loop, with Amenadiel at her side. His calm reassuring presence radiating warmth. It felt strangely right. It made no sense, but it did. As she reached the doorway, the demon behind them suddenly barked her name.

“Mazikeen!” 

Maze turned to lay into her one last time, but was stopped short by what she saw. Gone was the menace, the mockery, and the hunger. In its place was... something else. An expression that didn’t belong to a demon. 

“One foot in front of the other. If this is what you choose, no regrets. Move forward. And don’t look back.” What? For a moment, she was confused, but... a memory surfaced, of the two demons lounging in the grass of Abel’s Loop, staring at the fake stars in a fake sky.

 _”Astaroth is the name Christians gave me when I was driven into Hell. You would do well to remember, not all things are as they appear.”_ Inanna had been her old name. Was this the persona she had cast aside? Doubt and confusion mingled for a moment, then Amenadiel had his hand on her shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts.

Right.

‘Don’t look back,’ she said. Mazikeen of the Lilim nodded, and Astaroth of the Old World returned the gesture.

Then, taking one more look around at what had once been home, Mazikeen left the loop, and with Amenadiel’s help, she left Hell behind. For good.

In Amenadiel’s arms, she felt herself slipping through realities. They landed in Linda’s house. Home. Maze was home. She couldn’t wait to see her friend as a wave of longing hit. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her until that moment, but as she turned, it was Trixie who greeted her with a tackle hug.

“Maze!” She threw her arms around the demon, and Maze felt herself smiling genuinely for the first time in forever, but then, Dan walked into the room, a distressed, startled look on his face. 

Trixie’s eyes darted between the two for only an instant, then she spoke. “Lucifer got in trouble again. Linda and Charlie are missing. I think the doppelgänger-no-one-wants-to-tell-me-about stole them.”

“What?” the angel and demon exclaimed as one.

***

The heat was almost too much. One good thing about the bitter coldness from Beyond was that Lucifer’s injuries had all been numb, but stepping into the warmth—more, sweltering heat of a studio in LA without proper AC—was a shock to his system. Suddenly, everything hurt ten fold, his head pounded, and he became lightheaded all over again. 

And the Dad damned ringing in his ears amplified.

Lucifer swayed, and the Detective braced herself to support him. She was having difficulty with the intense temperature change, too, but clearly handling it better. Sighing, she eased him onto the same tattered chair he had been in before, when...

Anger flared up. That thing was going to suffer for everything it had done.

“Okay,” Chloe said, thinking out loud. “So, there’s gotta be something here for you to wear.” She looked around for a place to start rummaging.

“Really, there’s no need. I can just fly us back to the—” All at once, the Detective’s lips were on his. When she pulled back, she smiled patiently at him.

“Shh, you need clothes, even if you’re just gonna change as soon as we get back.”

“I’d rather not touch anything you find here,” The achy Devil grumbled. At least his wounds were still closed. He lost enough blood as it was, and now that they were back in creation, thanks to doppelgänger shenanigans, he couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility of dying. Bloody vulnerability. 

She resumed rummaging. As she pulled open a drawer that stuck halfway out, she hooted. “Found something!” Lucifer gaped as Chloe pulled up random garments to check for size, before tossing them aside. 

“Really, Detective, this is hardly necessary.” As he spoke, he tried standing to intervene, but a wave of nausea hit, and he fell back into the chair with a groan. Chloe glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“It is.” Her cheeks flushed momentarily and she turned away. “It _definitely_ is.” She held up a grotesque grayish faded graphic sweater which probably had, at one point, boasted a XXXL tag. He couldn’t quite make out the picture, something about... a constipated looking cartoon character with an oversized forehead and a lot of pointy yellow hair standing straight up. Miss Lopez would probably be able to name whatever asinine show it was from.

The Detective tossed the sweater at him. “Here,” his partner offered distractedly as she returned to rummaging.

Lucifer ducked, ignoring the disorientation his movement caused, and it flew past him to crumple on the floor at his side.

“Pass.” He closed his eyes, trying not to think about the shape he was in. Or about how worried he was over leaving Doctor Linda and Charlie behind, even if for only a short time. “Perhaps, instead of trying to torture me with these moth eaten abominations, you could try calling the Douche?”

Something hit him on the face. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with bright red trousers and a belt. “No,” he moaned through the fabric.

“Put those on while I call Dan,” the Detective bossed. Normally, he rather enjoyed her bossing him around, but normally, he wasn’t tired and sore, and normally, she wasn’t trying to stuff him into clothes even he couldn’t pull off.

Lucifer reached up with a weak hand. He snatched at the atrocity covering half his face to pull it back for inspection. It was a pair of too-short baggy red trousers, with a fake rhinestone bedazzled belt. He shuddered.

He was not putting those on.

“Hey, Dan? I found Lucifer. Linda and Charlie, too,” Chloe announced into the phone, startling him. She paced as she talked. “Oh, thank goodness, is she okay?” Chloe breathed in response to something the Douche must have said, while Lucifer mentally chastised himself for being spooked.

Sighing, he glanced downward and a glare formed as his eyes landed on the sweater. He held out the trousers with his thumb and forefinger, before dropping them at arm’s length. They landed in a heap on top of the dreadful garment.

“Lucifer, put those on. We’re not leaving until you do,” the Detective snapped, noticing what he had done. This was followed up with a quick explanation into the phone.

“Picturing me naked, Daniel?” Lucifer teased loudly, earning an eye roll from the Detective. The Devil chuckled tiredly, mood improved.

Chloe sighed. “Hold on,” she lowered the phone, and put one hand over it as she turned to address Lucifer. “I am not flying across LA with you naked. That’s not happening. We don’t have time for you to be a Diva. The Doppelgänger is still out there, and so is Michael.” 

Lucifer felt a twist of guilt and shame. She was right, of course. These were important problems to solve. Something must have shown on his face, because her expression softened. She crossed the tiny space between them, and leaned in to stroke his cheek.

“We’ll fix this. Amenadiel is back with Maze, they’ll get Linda and Charlie, then we can deal with this together. As a team. And we need to stop by the Penthouse anyway, to regroup. You can change there, yeah?”

Lucifer felt a mixture of uncomfortable feelings, but they all mattered so much less when she looked at him like that. Reluctantly, he looked at the wardrobe crime on the floor.

He huffed. “Very well, darling.”

Chloe smiled encouragingly at him, then she kissed him, soft and chaste, before bringing the phone back to her ear. Lucifer glared again at the pile of tasteless fabric at his feet before reluctantly reaching down to grab them and get them on. He felt pathetic. And ridiculous. 

If clothes made the man—or Devil, in his case—what did these say about him?

But the Detective was right. There were, remarkably enough, more important things than him at the moment.

He slipped the trousers on and carefully belted them, then he pulled the sweater on over his head. Bloody Hell, it was big enough to almost be a dress. Which was really saying something, considering his height. Sighing in defeat, he looked at Chloe, to see her putting her phone away. 

To her credit, she tried not to react when her eyes fell on him. “Oh, Lucifer, you look—” She was snickering in spite of herself.

He unfurled his wings with an indignant huff and she fell silent, although her eyes remained scrunched up with amusement. 

“Can we just get this bloody well over with?” he grumbled.

“Yes, of course,” she giggled as she stepped into his embrace. 

As she leaned in, he could feel her laughing at him against his chest. But that would be remedied as soon as he got home. Right, then. Lucifer drew her in, brought his wings down, and together, they left the studio behind.

***

Inanna watched the swirling ash left in the wake of the demon and angel, her lips curling into a pleased smirk, when the sound of much smaller wings than an angel’s caught her attention. Without turning, her features softened, and a genuine smile blossomed, leaving all hints of demonic nature behind.

“Hello, Matthew. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Lord Morpheus has need of you,” her old friend squawked. 

She sighed, turning to face the raven currently perched on a jutting peace of stone sticking out from the Hell Loop. The bird tilted his head politely her way. “How did it go with Mazikeen?” he asked politely.

Another smirk tugged on her lips. “Rather well, she’s finally seeing things clearly.” Then she frowned, her lips pouting. “This is about _him,_ isn’t it?”

The bird solemnly nodded his avian head. “Yes.”

She took a moment to look around, making sure no demons were in sight. She didn’t need rumors that Astaroth was getting soft to start circulating. The empty corridors and blue gloom met her gaze, and she allowed a single tear to take shape and trail down her cheek.

The demon, who had been a goddess once, and many things before that, leaned heavily against the wall, suddenly looking and feeling as ancient as she really was. She heaved. “I’m not the same as I once was, and Hell needs me,” she pointed out. Both were true.

“I know. You don’t have to come, but The Dream King felt you would want to.” It was amazing how much expression Matthew could fit into those piercing eyes. Inanna nodded. There was no point arguing, or in putting things off. She already knew she was going.

“I suppose I will need to go to await him as my old self,” she laughed. She hadn’t been that waif of a girl in a long time.

“That would make the most sense, but won’t it be fun to switch things up?” The bird cawed, and Inanna grinned. Switch things up. Sure. Why not, life _was_ change, after all. 

“Yes. I think it will be.” She stood straight, feeling a bit excited. “Very well, then, my old friend. Lead on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Inanna/Astaroth... what do you think? I, for one, love her.
> 
> Poor Lucifer. For the record, it’s a faded Dragon Ball Z graphic on the sweater. 😉
> 
> The Raven talks! Whaaaaaaaat? 
> 
> You totally didn't think the bird was gonna be important, I had you all fooled... 😂😂😂😈


	21. Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doppel and Michael confrontation. Part 1.
> 
> Michael is choosing to be brave.

“Not Lucifer,” the angel in front of him growled, good wing arched forward in warning, as he guided Miss Lopez behind him.

Lucifer stepped back, alarm bells ringing. How? When he imprinted, he _became_ the source. Thinking quickly, he decided Michael was guessing. His poor twin had every right to be fearful after the day he’d had. Slipping into Enochian, Lucifer tried to placate the understandably nervous archangel, choosing to disregard Miss Lopez’s confusing presence for the time being.

Last he knew, she was decidedly _not_ in the KNOW, but he shrugged the thought aside as temporarily irrelevant. Michael was the only one that mattered.

“It’s me, Mi-Mi. I understand, a lot’s happened, you’re confused.”

His brother shook his head violently. “You lie too much,” he accused.

Lucifer stiffened. Pulling back, his eyes narrowed at the insult. “I do _not_ —”

 _“Lucifer_ doesn’t lie. But _you_ love to!” Michael’s raven wings arched forward, bladed primaries aggressively fanning out. 

Lucifer considered. Then he laughed. There was no point letting the form lead if the jig was up. Lu... no, _Michael_ relaxed into a more comfortable position. Then he smirked. “How did you know?” He was genuinely curious. No one had ever called him out. But no one else knew him quite like his angel.

Black wings relaxed and a sad expression set in. “Your fears are similar, but different enough.”

Of course. Michael’s lips turned upward. His angel was the only one who could read and influence other celestials. And now, with him free from the effects of an imprint, he had his gifts back.

“My fears are nothing like his, but I suppose that makes sense.” His eyes darted to the interloper still clutching his angle and gaping as she tried to support herself on unsteady legs. “Perhaps we should ask Miss Lopez to leave so we can continue our chat in private?”

The petite human eyed him from behind a dark wing suspiciously as his angel glanced toward her. “No,” he countered, once again meeting his eye. “You don’t get to hurt anyone anymore.”

Michael scoffed. _“They_ hurt _me,”_ he retorted. Even with all his misgivings, he’d tried to connect with them. But somehow, even when he was one of them, he became the object of torment. Celestial _‘pranks,’_ they called them. At first, Samael stood up for him, but the Lightbringer inevitably grew bored with defending his fearful brother.

_Not true!_

Michael wished the voices would mind their own business, but even as he suppressed their vicious chatter, Lucifer’s memories jumped into play again.

_Samael looked at his twin quizzically. “Why are you acting so strange?” Michael recoiled from him, afraid. It was like a knife in his heart. His brother never used to fear him. The others? Yes. But never him. What had he done wrong? He took a step back as his brother attempted to hide his initial terror._

_“I’m not acting strange. If you think this is strange, maybe you don’t know me that well.”_

Michael remembered the panic grabbing his heart. He had feared Samael would realize who and what he was. He was afraid of what the powerful archangel might do to him if he knew the truth. It was this fear that inspired him to take measures to rid himself of the threat.

“They hurt me,” he repeated more desperately, gesticulating to emphasize his point. “And they would have done worse, had they known what I am. They have this nasty habit of destroying changelings,” he reminded bitterly. “Like me.”

“So you hurt back?” his angel countered, feathers ruffling indignantly. “You’re just like them.”

“No, I’m not.”

As he spoke, Miss Lopez stepped cautiously around a wing, eyeing him like he was some kind of monster. 

“Where’s Lucifer?” She demanded of him in English. He ignored her. She wasn’t important. Only his angel was. He had to get him to see.

“They attacked us, took everything from me. We never did anything to deserve it. They didn’t care. No one cares,” he explained. It wasn’t the first time he shared this story with his angel, but he seemed to need the reminder.

A shoe suddenly hit him. Miss Lopez, it seemed, discovered her gumption. She glared as she ducked under dark primaries to step forward. 

“Hey! Don’t ignore me!” She advanced, fury sharpening her features. “Are you it, then? The doppelgänger? Where’s Lucifer? You better bring him back this instant, Hijo de mil putas!” 

Michel blinked, confused by the language change for an instant, until his source caught on, and translated. _Son of a thousand whores._

Michael glared her way. “Not now, Lopez. Why don’t you go have a drink or something, so the adults can talk?” he snapped. He had half a mind to clobber her and lock her in a closet, but judging from the way his angel’s feathers puffed up when he started to move toward her, it was a safe bet this would not help to win him over. Michael chose to back off and lean against the bar instead.

“How dare you?” She growled. “Que te la pique un pollo.” _I hope a chicken pecks at your dick._ The image of Lopez’s bathtub bird attacking him suddenly came to mind. But then she was yelling at him in English again, even as his angel tried to chime in. 

“You deserve to rot for what you’ve done!” Lopez snarled.

“I know you fear rejection, but this isn’t right.” His angel caught Lopez by the wrist, stopping her from charging.

“One language at a time, if you please!” Michael snapped.

Both shut up. Lopez glared.

Michael returned the look. This human nuisance was trying to take his angel away from him and it filled him with a desperate kind of rage. In response to his surge of feeling, the condensed light he’d brought back from deep space sparked, catching everyone’s attention. Fear, confusion, and awe flashed across Lopez’s face. He sneered wickedly at her. The star didn’t matter. It’s energy was contained. It was harmless. Nothing more than a companion for him.

But she didn’t know that.

“Thank you,” he sighed at their continued silence. It gave him a moment to think, to try to find a new angle. “I know you think angels are good and pure, Lopez. But you’re wrong about them. They’re monsters. They create, only to destroy, with no concern for those they hurt. Messing with them may just save your world from annihilation.”

Her eyes returned to him, her glare resurfacing. “You’re not seriously trying to justify what you did to Michael, are you?” she demanded, fists balling.

His angel’s eyes darted between the two, reacting to the name.

Michael sighed again. “I don’t expect you to understand, human.” He looked at his angel, clinging to this human like he feared her being torn away from him, and his heart ached. He didn’t _want_ to hurt him. He wanted— _needed_ —him to come willingly. The new light sparked again, responding to the grip of loneliness in his heart.

Switching back to Enochian, he addressed the one celestial who wasn’t a monster, kept innocent and safe from the cruelty of the world. “You understand, though, don’t you, angel? You know I only wanted to keep you safe. You know now what they are like, what creation is like.”

Doubt flitted across his angel’s eyes.

“But you still don’t know how bad it really is. These mortals, they hurt one another to get ahead, and our family? They hurt for fun. Look what they’ve done to us.” He gestured at his angel’s injured wing and shoulder. “All because the gift of fear made us different. They delighted in tormenting me. Over and over. They would’ve done the same to you. Even your precious twin,” He gestured at himself, at the form of Lucifer he was wearing.

At that, his angel pulled back. His good wing folded in around Lopez, and he shook his head. “So, you decided to do the same? To hurt others? Why? Because you’re angry and afraid?” His fists tightened, turning his knuckles white as he closed his eyes, blinking back tears. Opening them again, he met Michael’s gaze with new found resolve. “It’s a mean game you play,” He accused, even as a sad smile softened his features. He blinked back tears and swallowed his feelings before continuing. “There’s more to you than that. Don’t you remember?” 

Remember? Lucifer’s and Michael’s memories frolicked across his mind. Then, summoned by his angel's words, memories even older came to light. He remembered holding his dead sister as celestials destroyed everything and everyone he held dear. 

“I remember being faced with pure evil. I remember pain.” 

A slow nod and a lowering wing signaled understanding. “So you decided to become what you fear.”

Michael pulled back. No, that wasn’t it, he was— 

“You can’t defeat hate with hate,” his angel continued, voice tremulous and lip quivering. “You can’t conquer fear with fear.” He glanced up as he spoke, and Michael saw something he was far too familiar with in his eyes. Terror. His angel was terrified.

His star sparked wildly, trying to grow and stretch, trying to escape. His angel closed his frightened eyes and focused on taking deep, desperate breaths. Time seemed to stop, but when next the archangel spoke, his voice resonated with new resolve, as he looked upon the star wildly trying to expand. 

“You only make it grow when you try to do that.” 

“No,” Michael pleaded. This was wrong. He looked between the struggling light and his angel. The angel who was supposed to be afraid of creation. He didn’t get it. It should’ve worked. Was it because of Lopez? His eyes locked onto her, but his angel moved in front of her.

“Hate can only be fought with compassion, fear by...” He took a deep breath, as he trembled openly. 

_You ruin everything you touch,_ the voices taunted.

The light sparked violently above him, then his angel swallowed and locked a steady gaze on him. The trembling stilled. “By choosing to _rise above!_ It’s the only way to end this.”

End it? Michael felt himself growing weak, as his angel attempted a smile and tentatively stepped closer.

“End the cycle of hurt. Find happiness.”

Find happiness? Find his sister. That’s what he was trying to do, right? But— 

Miss Lopez, oblivious to the conversation at hand, wrapped her arms around the frightened archangel as he faltered, whispering reassurances, offering strength and comfort. It felt wrong, to Michael. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This world was supposed to be too much. His angel was supposed to come back to him, grateful for the peace and security he offered. Miss Lopez was getting in the way.

The star flashed, and for a disorienting moment, it’s gravity started to break from his hold. Panicking, he attempted to quiet his emotions, but fear gripped his heart when he realized what would happen if he lost control. The Earth would be gone. And with his mounting dread, the light spiked again. 

Searching for a solution— _any_ solution—he looked frantically at his angel. Michael knew he could help, but... he had never given his angel a chance to learn how. More fear. ‘Rise above,’ his angel said, but how was one supposed to rise above fear like this?

“I can’t,” he sobbed, losing strength in his legs. Everything was falling apart. The voices were right. 

_Monster._

“This is who I am, now,” he confesses brokenly. He fell to his hands and knees, struggling to breath as the star blasted plasma against his celestial barriers. It was at this moment that the sound of wings drew everyone’s attention. Looking up in alarm, he gaped as Lucifer holding Chloe touched down on the balcony. Lucifer scarcely looked himself. He was wearing a tattered old shirt and moth eaten red slacks, his hair was a mess, and dried blood coated his hair, crusted around his lips, and spotted his knuckles. And ugly bruise was dominating the right sided his face. Chloe—on the other hand—was perfect.

Michael wasn’t sure what surprised him more. Lucifer’s state, or that he’d managed to escape. 

The furious fallen archangel started to charge, while Chloe drew her gun. Micheal laughed bitterly at himself. It looked like she was going to shoot him, again. He braced himself, but then Lucifer motioned for her to stop, even as he leveled a horrified look upon the star.

“What’ve you done, you bloody idiot?” He gasped. Lopez rushed over to the broken Devil and both mortals started talking at once, wanting to know what was happening. Michael wished to disappear, but then he felt hands on his shoulders.

What?

His angel couldn’t look him in the eye, and he was shaking with fear, but he still came. And still, he offered to help him up. 

Why?

“You don’t have to be a monster.” His voice trembled as he pleaded. Michael staggered to his feet, confused and upset as the angel wrapped his arms around him. “You were good, once. Before the emptiness swallowed you up.”

Good. Michael looked at his angel, illuminated by the strange light of the frantic star, then he let his gaze fall upon the ball of light. It was pure divine potential, and he brought it to Earth. It would destroy everything. Just like the celestials in his reality did so long ago. 

“I can’t stop,” he choked, clinging to his sweet angel. He heard Lucifer—his current source—cursing in various languages. He heard scuffling. He didn’t care about the others. He cared about his angel. He cared about finding his sister. He wanted to stop being a monster, but... he didn’t _know how._ “I can’t go back. I don’t even remember my old name. I need this. I need us, don’t you see?” he begged.

He considered just taking his angel then and there... but what would happen to the Earth if he did that? His angel would never forgive him if he let the star obliterate everything. He wasn’t sure he would be able to, either. And he didn’t have a strong enough hold on his feelings to take it with him. He couldn’t. He was stuck.

“You can’t be me anymore, and I refuse to be broken,” came his angel’s surprisingly harsh reply, and Michael recoiled. He pulled away and brought his hands to his face as panic set in. He needed his angel. He _needed_ to get away, but the light was growing and the sting of rejection penetrated his core. A hand touched his cheek. 

“Look at me.” his angel encouraged. Michael couldn’t look, he was struggling to breath. The voices laughed at him. 

“Look at me,” his angel repeated more firmly. “I’m afraid. But I’m facing my fears. You can too.”

Face his fears?

“You’re wasting your time with that wankstain. There’s no reasoning with it,” Lucifer snarled.

Face his fears. 

Lucifer continued to curse at him in Lilim, promising things that only the language of demons had words for. 

Face his fears.

“No one will ever accept me,” he whispered. “Not the _real_ me. Not after I’ve let myself become this nightmare.” Gravity shifted again, and the building hitched momentarily. The screech of grinding metal assaulted his ears.

“If the Earth perishes because of you, there is no corner in the multiverse you can hide in. I will find you and make you suffer.” The Devil vowed in Lilim. 

Michael didn’t want the Earth to perish.

Unaware of what their vengeful twin said, his angel took his chin and made their eyes meet. “That’s not true. I accept you.”

Acceptance? 

No. 

Michael cried. False promises were crueler than the truth. Dependence was what he expected from his angel. Tolerance? Acceptance? That was impossible. He had done too much to hurt him. But...

Deception was not in his angel’s nature.

“What about all the hurt I’ve caused you? Don’t you want to hurt me back?”

“You will be begging for mere pain before I’m through with you,” the Devil literally growled.

“Well, yes. But what good would that do?” The archangel replied, and another memory slammed into focus at his words.

_“If anything ever happened to you, I would make those responsible suffer,” he promised, taking his sister’s hand. She shook her head and laughed before curling her fingers into his._

_“What good would that do?” she chastised._

“I...”

Even Lucifer fell silent at the archangel’s words. 

“I’m choosing not to do that,” the determined celestial continued. “I choose to end the cycle.” Lowering his hand, he smiled sadly. “But I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit behind schedule. There were a lot of emotions going on in it and I wanted to get it just right.
> 
> Originally, this and next chapter were one chapter, but I could not effectively convey what I needed to in one chapter. So... Really, really hope you liked this.


	22. Rise Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a recap of last chapter from Michael’s point of view, and moving on.

Terror.

The air was rancid with it. Michael’s head, bombarded by it. The very fabric of existence, poisoned by it. He fought the panic, but it was a losing battle. There were so many fears. They were too vivid. Too loud.

The Detective looked to the one she loved, as an image of a dark haired, bright eyed, small mortal smiled in her mind’s eye, only to be snuffed out by the expanding star. Over, and Over.

Lucifer glared, hiding his fear behind rage. The faces of various mortals danced across his mind, and each one was destroyed in exquisite, agonizing detail before his eyes. The most defined visuals were of the Detective. Time and again, she was consumed by the light. Obliterated by it.

Miss Lopez Ella’s mind filled with images of radiation sweeping across everything, gravity, increasing and flattening mountains, and heat incinerating all she knew. She took deep breaths as she worked to push her fears aside, choosing instead to attend to Michael. She focused on giving him every ounce of courage she had. It took his breath away. Visions of everything being destroyed over and over again haunted her, but somehow, she found the strength to fight against the terror.

“No one will ever accept me,” the creature whispered. “Not the _real_ me. Not after I’ve let myself become this nightmare.” Gravity shifted again, and Michael felt the building hitch. An unbearably loud _sound_ punctured the air, and his heart quailed. But then he felt Miss Lopez Ella’s hand in his. It squeezed and he focused on the feeling, on the hope she still held.

Clinging to this drop of hope, the archangel met the creature’s gaze. He looked into the eyes of the enemy. He looked into the eyes of the creature who had taken everything from him. He was beyond terrified as their eyes met, but then it turned away, and the chill of dread ebbed.

His _own_ thoughts were a malesorm of fears, but he couldn’t let them overwhelm him. Not when Miss Lopez Ella refused to give in. Not when so many were counting on him finding a way to stop this. Michael willed himself to breathe, he drew on the strength of his new friend, and he felt a flicker of strength he didn’t think he had.

Looking into the creature’s eyes had been what landed him in trouble to begin with. But he had to do it. Even if it turned away, shame and guilt eating at its soul. Michael tried again.

For most of existence, every time he looked into the eyes of this creature, it was so the thing could imprint. So it could steal him away from himself. Again and again. His chest hurt, his insides churned, and swallowing was excruciating. He found it nearly impossible to stand firm, but—

He reached out again, letting himself feel the fears of those around him.

As the panic grew into a squall, he felt more certain than ever: they _needed_ him. He had been a failure his whole life. But he refused to fail, again. This time, things were different.

As he resolved to do all he could, he heard his twin growl something threatening at the creature using words he didn’t know. It was strangely reassuring, because it reminded him of the one thing that made all the difference.

He was not alone, and at long last, he finally understood.

Their fears were still there. A fear of death, a fear of losing loved ones, a fear of failure, of being alone, a fear of all things coming to an end. But there was something else in the air, too. Something that could only exist alongside fear.

Courage.

And a willingness to fight for a better end.

With intent, Michael took the creature by the chin and lifted its gaze. “That’s not true. I accept you.” Even as he said these words, he willed himself to believe he could overcome his fear, to see beyond it, and find the lost soul in desperate need of an anchor.

The creature wept, anguish and fear twisted the features he had stolen from Lucifer. Michael’s heart ached.

“What about all the hurt I’ve caused you?” It took his hand, trembling and desperate. “Don’t you want to hurt me back?”

Michael’s real twin said something again using those same deep, jagged words as before, and the creature flinched. The fear in its heart reflected in the star, and echoed in Michael’s mind. As the star fought to escape, the terror in the air spiked again.

Michael didn’t really understand the details of everyone’s fears, but it was clear the star did not belong, and more importantly, the creature had brought it, not out of malice, but out of _fear._

A fear of nothingness.

A fear of being alone.

The same fear which had been there since the very beginning. It was what had drawn him to the thing. All this time, with his gift taken, he had not known, but it was _still there._ He could smell it, he could taste it. The fear was enough to intoxicate him. It was too much.

And it had to stop.

Michael had to stop it. The fear was his true enemy.

“Well, yes. But what good would that do?” he replied, a sad smile falling into place at the dumbfounded look he garnered from his words.

As the light grew and stretched, reacting to the mounting anguish in the creature the new star thought to be Lucifer, he felt its fear, too. It was afraid that it was wrong, that it was unwanted. It knew it did not belong. It was innocent, confused, and lost. But the more the creature feared what it might become, the more unstable the star became.

As the light surged again, he felt everyone’s dread saturate his soul. Yet... Miss Lopez Ella continued to reassure herself that there was still hope, and she continued to support him

These feelings consumed the archangel, as if they were his own. Maybe they were. But her courage in the face of danger filled him, too.

Then a new fear came forth from the creature...

_My angel... he doesn’t know how to stop it. This is all my fault. I’ve become the very thing I wished to destroy._

Michael gasped, as understanding hit. He had the power to stop it. He just had to figure out what it was he needed to do. His mind started working quickly, searching for an answer.

“I...” The creature tried to respond, unaware of Michael’s thoughts. It floundered. All eyes fell on Michael, but his thoughts took him far away, to a time long past.

_“You are a protector, Michael. Knowing what others fear gives you what you need to save them. But first, you must rise above. Rise above and lift them up with you.”_

His Father’s words resonated with him.

_“Draw it in. Take command, and overcome.”_

Father’s words from so long ago, and understanding dawned on him.

He could do this. He was _made_ to defend. He was meant to rise above fear, and to bring others up with him. And he knew what he needed to do. Smiling sadly, he faced the creature.

“I’m choosing not to do that. I choose to end the cycle.” He announced firmly, dropping his hand. “But I can’t do it alone. I need your help. Please.” He reached out with his mind again, to see what he could find. The creature was still afraid of being alone, but he also feared causing Michael more pain.

“I know you care.” He almost couldn’t believe what he was saying. After all the times the thing had hurt him. But hurting was not all it did. It sometimes stayed. It tried to comfort him, it talked to him. It was not good at caring, but…

The thing wearing his twin’s face looked at him with so much confused hope it hurt. Michael wanted to look away as its fears shouted in his head.

_Rise above._

It was confused. It was trying to tell itself that it _was_ Michael, it was afraid of not being him, and it was starting to realize... maybe it truly wasn’t. It didn’t know who or what it was anymore, and that was terrifying, as well.

***

Need? His angel needed him? A choked sob worked up and the light spiked out in every direction. Gravity shifted, and a crack cut through the Penthouse. Humans screamed, and the Devil whose form he had stolen swore, but his angel kept his eyes on Michael... on… No.

That was wrong.

He wasn’t really Michael, was he? He _wanted_ it... but the truth was, he was no celestial.

He wasn’t really _anything_ anymore.

He felt the hold on his current form waver, and slip. The voices screamed in his head, and the ball of light flashed. Yet, his angel’s eyes remained locked on him.

He started to cry. “I can’t stop! This energy, the voices...”

Lucifer turned on him, a cruel smirk curling his lips. “Being me not as fun as you thought, _‘Mikey?’_ ” he sneered coldly.

***

Michael shot his brother a sharp look before turning back at the creature. “You need to let go. Remember who you were before the void stripped that away. Stop hiding behind other people’s faces.” He wasn’t sure this would work, but...

The creature shuddered. “But I can’t.” A violent wrenching cacophony or stressed metal sliced into the silence, and Michael’s feathers puffed as his wings spread to fly in response to the panic lancing through him. It was too much. He was a fool if he thought he could— Miss Lopez Ella wrapped her arms around him. He took rapid breaths. She smiled encouragingly at him. Fear was drenching the air, and her body shook, but she was there, helping him. Michael drew from her strength. From her courage.

_Rise above._

He was not alone.

“They’ll destroy me,” the creature continued, its voice small and broken as it confessed its fears to the one being who already knew them. “I’m nothing.” Gravity shifted again, and the terror overwhelmed him once more, but then Lucifer was there. He glared at the creature as he wrapped his arms around Michael.

“I’m nobody,” it sniffed weakly.

The star grew more angry and fearful. The divinity holding it was so completely corrupted by anguish it could barely contain it.

Michael felt Lucifer’s fear of failing pulsate within him, but he also recognized the deep well of strength his twin had in the face of adversity. Michael drew on that.

The true Lightbringer snarled at the thing responsible for the threat to the mortal realm. “You’ve stolen me. I can’t calm it. Get your feelings under control, or all of this is gone.”

The creature crumpled to the floor. Michael extracted himself from those giving him strength and took the creature in his arms. Lucifer protested, but Miss Lopez Ella and the Detective held him back. As Michael knelt, he focused on rising above, and defeating the fear.

“I’m just another villain to obliterate so they can pat themselves on the back. I’m always fighting, I’m tired, but I can’t stop. I can’t be alone again.” It was talking to itself.

Michael knew those fears all too well.

Alone.

Forgotten in the emptiness forever.

Remembering it, the emptiness rushed back to meet him, and Michael fought the urge to scream.

His heart pounded as memories of the void played havoc on his heart and mind. He felt the emptiness in his bones, as the creatures’s fears matched his exactly.

***

He was sick with fear. It was eating him alive. Why? Why was he so afraid? By way of answer, memories of the void surged forth. Emptiness, isolation, timelessness. It had been too much for him. He knew if death existed in the Beyond, he would have died long ago. But even so, as much as it felt like an eternity, it seemed he had only been there for an instant. Then his angel came.

The cold cut into him as if he was there again. He remembered seeing his angel approach, and thinking he had one chance to save himself. He remembered imprinting, and finding salvation.

The voices in his head screamed at him.

_Monster!_

_Evil!_

_Traitor!_

_You are worse than they ever were!_

But through it all, Lucifer’s memory of his true sister burned in his mind, beckoning him. He saw her face. Clear as crystal.

 _“I miss you,”_ she seemed to say in his mind.

_She would hate what you’ve become._

He was alone.

He couldn’t breath. The light spread. The barrier cracked. He was broken.

“You’re not alone.” The real Michael’s voice pulled him back.

What?

He met his angel’s eyes.

Not alone.

Tears welled up. He curled up on the floor. His body shrank as his form finally failed.

Not alone.

That’s all he ever wanted. It was probably a lie, but he clung to it. He knew dropping Lucifer’s form would mean the death of him. Of everyone, but he was tired. So tired of fighting. A part of him mourned for the Earth, but at least in this last moment, he was not alone.

The wings vanished, and the suit sagged around him, then a flash of light encompassed everything.

It was over. Finally over. He closed his eyes and welcomed the end.

But nothing happened.

He wondered briefly if he had been consumed by the new star so rapidly that he never even had a chance to register the pain... but no. He was still on the floor of the Penthouse. Cold marble lay beneath him. Confused, he opened his eyes just in time to see Lucifer, grabbing him and tossing him back. He flew toward the bar and crashed into it, leaving him dazed.

***

Michael’s wings were a blaze of pure light, dimmed only by his will to... to... _contain…_ it all. Draw it in. Hold it tight. Don’t let go. Take command. Rise above. It was painful to keep the essence of the star in, and the rush of energy nearly broke him on the spot, but Lucifer, Miss Lopez Ella, and the Detective were there, and they needed him. He would not fail again. Not this time.

He was a protector.

Michael trembled. His teeth clenched, and his breaths grew into quick, shallow, desperate gasps. A scream built up in his chest, but he forced it down. The sheer quantity of feeling ripped him apart, and he quickly started to realize he couldn’t keep it contained for long. His body ceased functioning properly. His knees buckled, his vision blurred, his balance crumbled.

But then, Lucifer was at his side. Strong arms wrapped around him as he tossed the now feeble creature aside. His twin was whole again. Still broken looking, but no longer helpless.

 _“Amateur,”_ the Lightbringer accused of the thing that had been him, then Lucifer was with him, protective arms enfolded him, helping him to his feet. He clung desperately to his brother. He wanted to ask— _beg_ —for help, but the effort of keeping all that energy in left nothing else for him. He was vaguely aware of his twin shooting their friends a worried glance. Lucifer said something to the mortals with the foreign words, then his wings came down, and with a rush of wind, they left, slipping through the fabric of reality.

Moments later, all was silent.

Motionless.

The cold of deep space was like a balm, and the stillness a welcomed reprieve. Michael relaxed, and the energy rushed out. As he faded, exhaustion claimed him. He felt his brother hold him as a brilliant light burst into existence, and the star was made whole at last.

***

The nameless changeling stared at the mess he’d made of the penthouse. _“How do you like the mess I made,”_ he had said once. He almost wanted to laugh, but then his eyes met Miss Lopez and Detective Decker.

Chloe had her gun leveled at him and murder in her eyes. Ella had a rock sculpture of a—he would rather not pay too much attention to the shape of the thing she was considering bludgeoning him with.

“I... um...”

Both women raised an eyebrow at him.

“I suppose a ‘sorry’ won’t quite cut it?”

...

Song: Rise Above (video link)

<https://youtu.be/50LlLLFZLg4>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I got caught up with developing my next story and this chapter I struggled with. it’s kind of Mi-Mi’s big defining moment.
> 
> Notice two words in this chapter’s title, so you know it’s important.
> 
> Song was the inspiration for the entire fic. Hope you enjoy it.


End file.
